The morning was quiet. Too quiet. No birdsong, no hum of the fridge, not even Nolan’s slow, possessive footsteps creaking across the hallway floor. Tasha opened her eyes slowly, her body aching from the night before. Her wrists were still tender where the leather cuffs had rubbed. Her thighs were sore. Her n*****s throbbed—not from fullness, not from pressure, but from memory. His mouth had been on them for hours. His hands had worked her like a machine. His voice had kept whispering in her ear like prayer, like poison.
But today, her breasts were soft.
Flat.
Empty.
She sat up slowly, dreading the realization that had haunted her for days. The milk was gone. Last night’s climax had wrung the last of it out of her, and her body hadn’t recovered. Her chest felt hollow. Her skin loose. Ev
