Day forty-eight broke with a thin drizzle tapping against the windows of the house on Maple Lane. The mist clung low, softening the edges of everything outside, but inside the silence felt heavier than ever. Amina’s text from the night before still sat on Elias’s phone like a live wire: “Coming home Saturday around noon. Just for the night and Sunday morning. I need the porch and the quiet. See you then.”
Elias read it again while I was still curled against his chest in bed, his arm banded tightly around my waist, fingers splayed possessively over my lower belly. Morning hardness pressed hot and insistent against my a*s. He didn’t speak at first. He just rolled me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up, and slid inside me in one slow, deep thrust.
We both groaned at the stretch. He f****d me
