The days started blurring together in the hottest, most confusing way possible. Mornings I’d wake up sore and sticky, my mind replaying every filthy thing Damien had done to me the night before, while my stomach twisted with that familiar knot of *what the hell are we doing*. The house that used to feel too big and empty now felt like a pressure cooker, every room holding some memory of his hands on me, his voice in my ear calling me his little stepsister while he came deep inside. I tried to throw myself into my art, but even the charcoal seemed to betray me—every curve on the page looked suspiciously like the line of his back or the way his tattoos shifted when he moved inside me.
Tyler came by again two days after that charged session in the foyer. We were supposed to be finalizing the
