The doorbell stopped ringing. The delivery man was gone. Footsteps faded down the path. Silence came back, thick and heavy, like the house itself was holding its breath. But the fire inside us didn’t die. It burned hotter. Sharper. Darker.

Aria sat up on the couch. Her tank top was still pushed up around her neck. Black lace bra hung loose from one shoulder. Her boobs were bare, nipples swollen and red from my rough sucking. Small bite marks dotted the soft skin around them like dark flowers. She didn’t cover herself. She wanted me to look. Wanted me to remember every mark I left.