He had never come like that. Not in his life. It had been too much. Too much. Not just because of the way she moved or the way she moaned, but because of what had been in his head while it all happened.
The image of her. The fantasy of him. Together.
The truth of it left him dizzy.
And uncertain.
The apartment was quiet in the way morning sometimes is after something irreversible has happened -- not heavy, not uncomfortable, but stretched thin at the edges. A kind of silence that didn't press, but waited. Pale sunlight spilled across the bed in soft ribbons, painting faint gold across crumpled white sheets, the curved edge of Shannon's thigh, the slow, steady rise of Craig's chest. It was the kind of stillness that felt earned -- like the world was pausing just long enough to let them
