The days had melted together into one long, feverish haze. Mornings started with stolen glances over breakfast, afternoons dissolved into quick, desperate f***s against walls or on the floor, nights bled into slow, grinding sessions that left them both wrecked and still wanting. No conversations about what this meant. No guilt trips. Just skin on skin, breath on breath, the constant throb of need that never quite eased.
It was late afternoon now, sunlight slanting gold through the kitchen windows. Vicky stood at the counter in nothing but a pair of black lace panties that barely covered her ass. She was supposed to be making a sandwich—bread out, peanut butter open—but her mind wasn’t on food. Her n*****s were hard from the cool air and the memory of last night, p***y already slick betwee
