The week after the family dinner felt like living inside a fever.
Every morning I woke to John’s mouth already on my skin. Every night I fell asleep with his c*m still leaking out of me. The new job was demanding, his company was in the middle of a major acquisition, and somehow none of it mattered the second the apartment door closed behind us. The second we were alone, the only thing that existed was skin and heat and the desperate need to be inside each other.
Thursday night was the worst.
Or the best.
I came home late, exhausted from a twelve-hour design presentation, only to find John already waiting in the living room. He was still in his work clothes... black slacks, white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled up. A tumbler of whiskey dangled from his fingers. The look
