Darrell

I stood under the shower for a long time after she left, hot water pounding my shoulders, steam filling the bathroom until the mirror fogged completely. I scrubbed hard, trying to wash away the night: her taste on my tongue, the feel of her ass clenching around me, the way her body shook when she came the third time. It didn’t work. The scent of her stayed on my skin no matter how much soap I used.

By the time I got out, towel around my waist, the apartment felt colder and quieter. I padded to the kitchen in bare feet, opened the fridge, and pulled out leftover takeout—cold...