I didn’t even try to sleep.
The orgasm I’d given myself on the guest-room sheets had only made everything worse. My fingers still smelled like me. My cunt still throbbed, empty and greedy, every pulse a reminder of how hard he’d been against my thigh and how fast he’d run.
He thought walking away would end it.
Cute.
I waited until the house went completely still. No footsteps. No television. No soft murmur of my mother’s voice complaining about something. Just the low hum of the air conditioning and the distant tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.
I knew the layout of this house better than I knew my own body. Maria’s room was at the far end of the second floor. Sinclair’s was the master suite at the opposite end—the one he’d moved into two years ago after the fighting got too l
