The afternoon was long and silent. Owen had taken the kids to the park before heading to his stall, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, the house felt empty. But it wasn't. Ford was still behind that guest room door.
I tried to keep busy. I scrubbed the kitchen counters until they shone. I folded the laundry. But no matter what I did, I couldn't stop seeing it. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the image of his thick, throbbing length in my hand. I felt the cold, hard press of that piercing against my palm. My body was betraying me. Between my legs, there was a heavy, persistent ache that made it hard to walk straight.
I should go in there, I thought.
No, stay away. That’s a trap. Another thought interrupted.
I paced the living room. If I don't go in, he’ll think he has power
