The next morning, Lena sat at the long oak breakfast table with a cup of untouched coffee. Her fingers trembled around the porcelain mug. The bright mountain sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting golden lines across the floor. Outside, birds chirped as if the night before hadn’t happened.
But it had. Her body still felt the imprint of him. Every time she shifted in her seat, she remembered the weight of his hands. The roughness of his voice. The sound he made when he finished inside her. Her thighs were sore. Her lips tender. Her guilt growing.
Ethan entered the kitchen with messy hair and a crooked smile, still stretching from sleep. “Morning, babe.”
She managed a thin smile. “Hey.”
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, too distracted to notice how she stiffened
