Day twenty-two settled into a quiet, hopeful rhythm. The sun stayed bright through most of the afternoon, and the lilacs along Maple Lane continued to perfume the air with their heavy sweetness. Amina had confirmed early: “Wednesday dinner still good? I’ll bring pasta salad again if that’s okay. Maybe we can sit on the porch afterward. 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’d left inside me the night before.
“She’s looking forward to it,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet hope and immediate hunger. “She said ‘looking forward.’ That’s new.”
He didn’t wait. He lifted my leg an
