I could still feel him inside me.
Still feel the pressure of his knot.
Still feel the sting between my legs and the soreness in my thighs and the mess dripping out of me and down my legs in slow, sticky trails of humiliation.
And none of it mattered.
Because I wasn’t her.
Because I would never be her.
She had history with him. A house. A child. A wedding band. A name. I didn’t even have a toothbrush here. I didn’t even have clothes. I had a bed I wasn’t supposed to be in, a body he used like a toy, and feelings that were way too big for a girl who thought she was smart enough to not get attached.
I was wrong.
So f*****g wrong.
And now I was standing here, shaking, sweating, still naked under this goddamn sheet, watching the man who said I was his let another woman put her mouth an
