The Morning After

Sunlight sliced through the blinds like it had a personal vendetta, hitting my face at exactly the wrong angle. I groaned, rolling over, and immediately regretted it. Every muscle ached in that delicious, guilty way that screamed you did something you can’t take back. Between my legs was a dull, satisfied throb, and when I shifted, I felt the sticky reminder of last night—Elias inside me, bare, spilling deep, no pulling out, no second thoughts until the high wore off. I pressed my thighs together and bit my lip. Part of me wanted to crawl back under the covers and relive every second: his mouth on me, his fingers curling just right, the way he’d growled “mine” like it was a fact instead of a risk. The other part—the louder, more terrified part—was screaming Amina is going to kill you both. I forced myself up, pulled on yesterday’s hoodie over my bare skin, and crept to the bathroom. The house was quiet. Too quiet. No clatter of pans, no coffee maker gurgling. Just the soft patter of last night’s rain still dripping from the gutters. In the mirror my reflection looked wrecked in the best and worst way: lips swollen, faint red marks on my neck where Elias had sucked too hard, eyes bright with something that felt dangerously close to happiness. I splashed cold water on my face and whispered to myself, “Get it together, Zara. Act normal.” Downstairs the kitchen was empty. A note sat on the counter in Elias’s neat handwriting: Had to run to the office for a client meeting. Back by lunch. Coffee’s fresh. Text me when you’re up. —E No hearts. No filthy promises. Just practical, dad-like concern. It made my stomach twist harder. He was trying to play it cool. We both had to. I poured coffee with shaking hands. The mug was still warm—he couldn’t have left long ago. I sipped, staring at the spot on the island where he’d had me pinned last night, shorts around my ankles, whispering how good I felt clenching around him. Footsteps on the stairs. Amina appeared in sweatpants and an old band tee, hair in a messy ponytail, yawning so wide her jaw cracked. “Morning, zombie. You look like you got hit by a truck.” I forced a laugh. “Late night scrolling TikTok.” She grabbed a mug, poured coffee, then leaned against the counter right where Elias had eaten me out less than twelve hours ago. My face heated. “You okay?” she asked, tilting her head. “You’re all… flushed.” “Hot coffee,” I mumbled. “Burned my tongue.” She studied me for a second too long, then shrugged. “Dad left early. Said something about blueprints and a picky client. He’s been weird lately—super distracted. Keeps checking his phone like he’s waiting for a bomb to drop.” My heart stuttered. “Weird how?” “Like… clingy-weird. Texting me good morning at 6 a.m., asking if I slept okay, telling me to drive safe even though my shift isn’t till noon. It’s giving overprotective-dad-on-steroids vibes.” I swallowed hard. “Maybe he’s just… worried about you.” “Or maybe he’s finally dating someone and doesn’t know how to tell me.” She laughed, but there was an edge to it. “Wouldn’t that be wild? My thirty-five-year-old dad sneaking around like a teenager.” I nearly choked on my coffee. She patted my back. “You good?” “Yeah. Wrong pipe.” We moved to the living room. Amina flopped onto the couch, pulled up Netflix, and patted the spot next to her. “Come on. We need a palate cleanser after all the drama. Something dumb and horny. No feelings allowed.” I sat, legs tucked under me, trying not to think about how Elias’s hands had gripped those same thighs last night. The episode started—some trashy reality dating show—but my mind was elsewhere. Every creak of the house made me jump, expecting him to walk in early. My phone buzzed. Elias. You up? I glanced at Amina—she was engrossed in the screen—then typed back. Yeah. Amina’s here. Watching TV. His reply was instant. Good. Behave. I can still taste you. Heat rushed through me so fast I pressed my thighs together. I locked my phone, heart hammering. Another buzz. Tonight. After she’s asleep. Guest room door unlocked. I want you on your knees this time. I squeezed the phone so hard my knuckles whitened. Amina glanced over. “Who’s blowing up your phone?” “Group chat from school,” I lied. “Drama.” She snorted. “Always is.” We watched two more episodes. I barely registered the plot. My body was tuned to a different frequency—waiting for the sound of his truck in the driveway, the jingle of his keys, the moment he’d walk in and pretend everything was normal while his eyes promised to wreck me again. Around eleven-thirty the front door opened. Elias stepped inside, shaking rain from his jacket. He looked tired—shadows under his eyes, hair a little damp—but when his gaze landed on me, it sharpened. Hungry. Possessive. “Hey, girls,” he said, voice steady. “How’s the morning?” Amina waved lazily. “Binge-watching trash. Join us?” He hesitated, eyes flicking to me. “Got a quick call in ten. Rain check?” “Suit yourself, old man.” He disappeared down the hall toward his office. A minute later my phone vibrated again. Office. Now. Quiet. My pulse roared in my ears. I waited thirty seconds, then stood. “Bathroom break.” Amina didn’t look up. “Hurry back. They’re about to do the hot tub scene.” I slipped down the hall. The office door was cracked. I pushed it open. Elias was leaning against his desk, arms crossed, sleeves rolled up. The blinds were half-closed, rain-streaked light striping the room. He didn’t speak. Just crooked a finger. I closed the door behind me. Locked it. The second the lock clicked he was on me—backing me against the wall, mouth crashing into mine. Hard. Desperate. Like he’d been starving since last night. His hands slid under my hoodie, palms rough against my bare skin, cupping my breasts, thumbs flicking my n*****s until I whimpered into his kiss. “Missed this,” he muttered against my lips. “Missed you. Been half-hard all morning thinking about how you clenched around me when I came inside you.” I gasped as he pinched lightly. “Elias—” “Shh.” He kissed me deeper, tongue stroking mine, one hand sliding down to cup me between my legs. Even through the leggings I was soaked. He groaned. “Still dripping my c*m, baby?” “Yes,” I breathed. “Good girl.” He rubbed slow circles over my c**t. “Gonna keep you like this all day. Wet. Ready. So when I sneak into your room tonight I can slide right back in where I belong.” I rocked against his hand, needy. “Please…” “Not here. Not yet.” He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “But tonight I’m taking my time. Gonna f**k you slow. Deep. Make you come so many times you forget your own name. Then I’m filling you again. Over and over. Until you’re so full it leaks down your thighs.” A knock on the office door. We froze. Amina’s voice, muffled: “Dad? Client on the phone. Said it’s urgent.” Elias exhaled through his nose, forehead dropping to mine. “One second,” he called back. Voice steady. Like he wasn’t two seconds from bending me over the desk. He kissed me once more—soft this time, almost tender—then stepped away, adjusting himself with a grimace. “Go,” he whispered. “Before I say f**k it and take you right here.” I slipped out, legs shaky, face burning. Amina was in the hallway, scrolling her phone. “You okay? You look weird.” “Just… hot flash,” I mumbled. She laughed. “You’re twenty. Calm down, grandma.” I forced a smile and returned to the couch. But every time Elias walked past, every time our eyes met across the room, the promise hung between us. Tonight. And I already knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until he made good on every dirty word.