He texted at 1:47.
Be in the bedroom. Shorts off. On the bed. Don’t touch yourself.
I was already there. The shorts from this morning were in the hamper, ruined. I’d showered everything except what he’d told me to keep. My cunt was still slick and swollen, the leftover c*m shifted every time I moved. I lay on the bed in just the tank top, legs open, phone face-down, heart slamming while I listened for the front door.
Jace didn’t knock.
He walked in, locked it behind him, and stopped at the foot of the bed. His eyes dragged over me—tank top shoved up under my breasts, thighs spread, the shine already visible between them.
“Still full,” he said. Not a question. He crawled onto the bed, shoved two fingers into me, and curled them. I gasped. He pulled them out, glistening with both of us,
