Morning light filters through the curtains—soft, gray, winter-pale—but we’re not done pretending it’s night yet. Sophie’s flight is pushed back again: another delay text came in at 6 a.m. “Stuck till evening, ugh. Tell Dad I love him. Don’t let him eat all the cereal lol.” I read it while Ethan was still asleep beside me, his arm slung heavy over my waist, cock half-hard against my ass even in sleep.

I didn’t reply. Instead I rolled over, straddled him under the sheets, and sank down slow—taking him inch by inch while he woke up groaning my name.

Now it’s almost noon. We’ve barely left the bed. Sheets are wrecked—twisted,...