It’s the weekend, and the truth is, I’m fucked up over him now. Like, properly ruined.

The second Mom’s out of sight for more than thirty seconds, Blake’s hands are already on me—yanking my shorts down, bending me over whatever’s closest, and burying himself so deep I forget how to breathe normally.

The kitchen counter with the faucet still dripping from breakfast dishes; the backseat of his truck while she’s inside paying for gas; the laundry room with the dryer banging so loud it almost drowns out the wet slap of his hips against my ass and the choked little noises I can’t stop making.

I don’t even recognize myself...