Sarah left around noon on Saturday.
She kissed me at the door—soft, lingering, still a little dazed. Her thighs were probably still sticky under the sundress she’d thrown back on. She smiled like someone who’d discovered a new religion and said, “Text me later?”
I nodded.
My mouth said, “Count on it, baby.”
Inside I was screaming.
The apartment felt too quiet after she was gone. I stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the rumpled sheets still on the bed, the dried white streaks on the mattress, the faint smell of s*x hanging in the air like smoke. My body ached in places it had never ached before—deep muscle soreness, a rawness between my legs that made every step a reminder.
And I was hard again.
Not a normal hard-on. Something thicker, heavier, pulsing with that same
