Day twenty-four felt different — heavier, like the fragile rhythm we had built was finally being tested.
Amina had texted the night before: “Dinner tomorrow? I’ll bring dessert. But I want to talk about something real this time. No more surface stuff. Porch if it’s nice.”
Elias read the message in the morning while I was still curled against his chest. His arm tightened around me instantly, that familiar clingy grip turning almost protective.
“She wants to talk about something real,” he said quietly, voice low. “No more safe dinners. This could be the first real test.”
He rolled me onto my back and pushed inside me without another word, deep and slow, eyes locked on mine.
“Still so full of me,” he whispered, thrusting steadily. “My c*m still leaking out while my daughter wants to have
