The next night Jarvis left the front door unlocked.
She told herself it was absent-minded—habit after years of living alone in a quiet neighborhood—but the truth sat heavier between her thighs. She’d spent the day restless, body still tender from the night before: faint bruises blooming on her hips where Reyes had gripped her, n*****s still sensitive from Torres’s teeth, a dull ache deep inside where Kane had stretched her wide. Every time she shifted in her chair or crossed her legs, she felt the ghost of their c***s, their hands, their mouths. She didn’t shower until late afternoon, wanting to keep the faint scent of them on her skin—sweat, smoke, c*m.
At 10:03 p.m. the door creaked open.
Reyes stepped inside alone. No gear this time—just black jeans, black T-shirt stretched across hi
