Zoe’s house felt too clean.
She stood in the entryway for a long time after the door shut behind her, still wearing Lucas’s shirt over her leggings, keys biting into her palm. The quiet of 214 pressed in from every side—familiar, orderly, completely untouched by the last several days. No rope on the floor. No flogger. No lingering smell of s*x and sweat and the three of them tangled together.
She dropped the keys on the table and went straight upstairs.
In her bedroom she pulled Lucas’s shirt off and threw it into the corner like it had burned her. She stood under the shower until the water ran cold, scrubbing at skin that still carried faint marks from cuffs and rope and open hands. The aches that had felt earned that morning now felt like evidence of something stupid. Something one-si
