The encounters began to blur at the edges. Time lost meaning. Names felt unnecessary. They moved through each other’s lives like shadows slipping under doors—silent, inevitable, wordless.
Midnight on a Tuesday. Rafe’s knock was soft, almost hesitant. Sally opened the door wearing nothing. Skin still warm from the shower, hair damp and loose down her back. No hello. No eye contact that lingered too long. She stepped aside. He stepped in. Door clicked shut.
They didn’t make it past the entryway.
He backed her against the wall, hands framing her face for one heartbeat—thumbs brushing her cheekbones—then dropped lower. Mouth on her throat. Teeth grazing the pulse point. Fingers sliding between her thighs, finding her already slick. She arched into his touch. He lifted her effortlessly—legs
