He helps me down from the counter and stalks toward the guest room with the energy of a man who has never been more sexually frustrated in his entire life.
I stay in the kitchen letting my heart rate return to something approaching normal. My thighs are slick, my p***y throbbing and empty, aching with the fullness I was seconds away from having. He was RIGHT THERE.
I could feel him. One thrust. One single thrust.
Rayana is going to pay for this.
The morning crawls by in a haze of demands and adjustments. Water complaints — too much ice, not enough ice, “acceptable, barely.” Pillow emergencies. The curtains are letting in too much light. No, now there’s not enough light. The temperature is too cold. Now it’s too warm.
By noon, I’m ready to help Knox bury her in those mountains.
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