The next morning.

I woke up sore in places I didn’t want to think about, throat still raw, and the memory of Jake’s hands and mouth and that stupid thick cock sitting heavy in my head.

I stayed in my room as long as I could, but eventually hunger forced me downstairs.

Jake was already in the kitchen, shirtless again, drinking coffee like nothing had happened. He looked at me over the rim of his mug, that same unrepentant little glint in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

I ignored him, made toast, and took it to the living room.

That was when the doorbell rang.

I frowned. We...