The eighth morning without normalcy arrived under a thin veil of sunlight that did nothing to ease the ache in the house. Amina’s car still sat empty in the driveway when I peeked through the curtains. She had come home late last night — we’d heard the door around 1 a.m. — but she’d gone straight to her room without a word.
Elias was already awake, his body spooned tightly behind mine, one arm locked around my waist and the other hand resting possessively between my thighs. His fingers lazily stroked my folds, still slick and swollen from the night before.
“Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice husky. He pressed his hard c**k against my a*s, rocking slowly. “She’s back under this roof. That means something. But right now… I need you. Need to feel you before the next round of pain starts.”
