Zoe woke long before her alarm. Her body was already restless -- humming with heat and anticipation, her nerves sparking beneath her skin like static before a storm. She lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, one hand idly trailing the dip of her waist, fingers brushing the sash of her robe but going no further. Not yet.
Memories of the day before played in vivid, visceral flashes -- the slick slide of his length against her glove, the impossible heft of it in her grasp, the molten splash of his c*m striking her skin like it belonged there. Guilt no longer weighed on her. Only hunger.
She dressed with quiet purpose. The robe she chose was blush-pink silk, whisper-light, cinched loosely at the waist, delicate enough that her breath might slip it open. Beneath it: black lace that kissed eve
