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The next morning, the house smelled like fresh coffee and pancakes.

I woke up sore, exhausted, and with my mind still spinning from everything that had happened the night before. Amelia’s mouth on me, her riding me while Mum was just downstairs, the risk, the pleasure… it all felt like a fever dream.

I dragged myself downstairs, expecting awkwardness. Tension. Maybe even regret from Amelia.

Instead, she was in the kitchen with Mum, laughing like nothing had happened.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Amelia said cheerfully, turning from the stove with a bright smile. She was wearing a modest silk blouse and tailored pants — the picture of elegance...