The smell of maple syrup and expensive coffee felt like a physical assault on my senses. I stood at the top of the stairs, my hand gripping the banister so hard the wood bit into my palm. Every muscle in my legs was screaming, a dull, throbbing ache that reminded me of every brutal, territorial thrust Denzel had delivered against the bookshelves only hours ago.
I was wearing Lexi’s shirt again. The same one. I could still feel the phantom weight of his hands on my hips, the way he’d kneaded my flesh like I was something he owned.
"Tori! Move your ass, the pancakes are getting cold!" Lexi shouted from the kitchen. Her voice was too loud, too bright. It made my stomach churn with a toxic cocktail of guilt and adrenaline. I took a breath, smoothed the hem of the shirt, and walked down.
The
