The mornings after were the worst. Ivy would wake up tangled in her sheets, her thighs sticky with memory, her mouth still tasting of wine and sin. She would lie there for long minutes, staring at the cracked ceiling of her tiny apartment, trying to convince herself that she had dreamed it all. That she had not spread her legs wide on her boss’s velvet couch while his wife licked her to pieces under his hungry gaze. That she had not whispered please again with her eyes fluttering shut as Elise’s tongue pushed deeper. That she had not left their penthouse with trembling legs and no panties beneath her dress.
But then her phone would buzz, and the spell would break all over again.
Private Number
Come up tonight. He wants to watch you crawl.
And she would go. Every time. Without resistanc
