Day thirty-four brought a quiet kind of progress. The mist had lifted slightly, leaving the porch damp but usable, and the lilacs along Maple Lane continued to fill the air with their sweet scent. Amina had texted in the morning: “Dinner tonight. Ninth time. I’ll bring pasta salad and some strawberries. Porch afterward if it’s nice. Looking forward to it.”
Elias read the message while I was still wrapped in his arms in bed, his body curled tightly around mine, morning hardness pressed hot against my a*s. His hand was already between my thighs, fingers spreading the slick warmth he had left inside me the night before.
“She called it the ninth time,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet hope and immediate hunger. “She’s counting them now. She’s looking forward to it. That means she’s choosi
