The next morning, sunlight sliced through the blinds like a silent accusation.
Ivy lay in her bed, eyes wide open, heart pounding against her ribs like a drum she couldn’t silence. The sheets still smelled like Harper. Her thighs ached. Her lips were swollen. She hadn’t slept. Not a second.
Harper had kissed her goodnight, casual and unbothered, before slipping back into her own room. Like what had happened—the way she had touched Ivy, eaten her out like it meant something, made her body sing in ways it never had—was nothing more than a favor. A casual lesson. Just girls being girls.
But Ivy’s body remembered.
Every flick of Harper’s tongue. Every moan she didn’t know she could make. The way she shattered with one orgasm and then melted into another like Harper had pulled her apart cel
