I heard that voice before I could do anything else—rough and edged with disbelief.
“Steph… are you out of your mind?”
He stepped inside the room—door left open behind him like he didn’t trust himself to close it.
Still in the gray hoodie and black joggers from the airport run, hair a little windblown, keys dangling from one hand.
He’d come back for something—forgotten documents he’d need at the airport probably the ones I had tried hiding, passport pages or boarding pass printouts he’d left on the dresser.
But the second he saw me, the papers didn’t matter.
I was still ass-up on his bed—face buried in his pillow, thighs spread, fingers slick and trembling between my legs, hoodie clutched under me like a security blanket soaked in my c*m and tears.
The vodka bottle lay tipped
