Her gaze on me at the breakfast table displayed not even a hint that I had touched her, run my fingers up her long legs the day before, or stroked her soft ass and squeezed her thighs up high between her legs, or slid my hands over her lower back, slippery with sweat.

Nothing.

I had a hard time talking when she was around now. Not like we sat around having deep conversations, but we did talk about stuff, normal stuff. The simplest utterances were a greater effort for me now. I was always wondering what she was thinking. I had this whole side dialog anytime we talked, anytime she...