Day fifty-three felt heavier than the rain that had been falling for days. The house on Maple Lane was quiet in that particular way it got when someone was about to leave again. Amina’s bag sat by the front door. Her car was already packed. We were having one last breakfast on the porch before she drove back to college.
Elias had woken me early, the same way he had every morning she’d been here — curled tight around my back, one hand already between my thighs, pushing his c*m from the night before deeper inside me while he whispered filthy things against my ear about how full he wanted me before she left. We’d been quiet. Careful. The risk of her hearing us had only made him rougher, needier.
Now we sat on the porch with coffee and the last of the pancakes. Amina looked more rested than
