Promise
Day twenty-one felt like the house was finally learning to exhale. The sun stayed longer, warming the porch where Amina had sat just nights before, and the lilacs continued to bloom heavy and sweet along Maple Lane. Amina had texted mid-morning: “Next week dinner still good? Wednesday maybe? I’ll bring pasta salad. We can sit on the porch again if it’s nice. No pressure, just… keeping the rhythm.”
Elias read the message while I was still tangled 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’d left inside me the night before.
“She wants Wednesday,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet hope and immediate hunger. “She’s planning ahead now. That’s six
