The morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, warm on my face, but it wasn’t the light that made me shiver — it was the way his eyes stayed on me across the table. My fiancé leaned over, kissed my cheek with that boyish smile of his, and all I could think about was how different it felt compared to the roughness of his father’s mouth on my skin just hours ago.
I forced a smile back, but under the table my thighs pressed together, still sore, still aching with the memory of his c**k pounding me into the mattress. When I dared to glance up, his father’s gaze was already there, steady, unreadable, but heavy enough that I nearly dropped my fork.
The whole day dragged with that. Every time I caught his eyes, it was like he was reminding me of last night, of how he had me begging, crying,
