My words lost from my mouth the second I saw him standing there, blocking the hallway like a wall of muscle and guilt and want.
Phone clutched in my hand like a smoking gun.
“Ohh, Dad, here you are,” I blurted, voice cracking on the lie.
“I was just about to… uhm… hand you your phone. You seem to have forgotten it here.”
I held it out—fast, too fast—like it was burning me.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just stared.
Eyes flashing from the phone to my face, to the way the Harvard tee clung to my t**s, n*****s still hard from the adrenaline and the memory of his thumb in my mouth.
Then he stretched his hand out—slowly—fingers brushing mine when he took it.
Lingering a second too long.
“Thanks,” he said.
Voice flat.
But that low “Mmmh” hummed underneath, barely t
