Chapter 7 After He Leaves Ch2

• Elle woke up sore.
• Every inch of her body ached with memory. Her thighs, her back, her lips—all kissed by Cade’s rough, reverent touch. The couch still smelled like sex, like sweat, like the kind of betrayal no detergent could ever wash out.
• He was gone when she opened her eyes.
• No note.
• Just a folded blanket draped over her naked form and the lingering imprint of his hand on her hip.
• She touched the spot. Shivered.
• And smiled.
• Cade drove like he was escaping something.
• His jaw clenched, hands locked tight on the steering wheel. His cock still throbbed from the night before, like it hadn’t gotten enough of her. Like it never would.
• He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t.
• Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Bent over. Spread wide. Moaning his name.
• Her husband’s name hadn’t come up once. Not even in guilt.
• That terrified him.
• But he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
• How she tasted. How she begged. How she took every brutal inch like she’d been waiting years for it.
• She had.
• And he’d known. Deep down, he’d always known.
• Elle spent the day in a daze.
• She showered. Cleaned the couch. Made coffee she didn’t drink.
• Every five minutes, she thought about texting him.
• Every ten, she thought about masturbating.
• By noon, she did both.
• The text was simple.
• Did you like it?
• The orgasm wasn’t.
• She came with his name on her lips, again.
• When she opened her phone, the screen was still blank.
• No reply.
• Cade sat in his truck outside a job site, phone burning a hole in his pocket.
• He read her message twenty times.
• Did you like it?
• Did he?
• He could still feel the heat of her around him. Still taste her on his tongue. Still see the look in her eyes when he spilled inside her like he owned her.
• Like wasn… the wrong word.
• He wanted to tell her to never text him again.
• He wanted to drive back and fuck her again on every surface of that house.
• His fingers hovered.
• Typed.
• Deleted.
• Typed again:
• You left the robe on the floor.
• Elle grinned when she saw it.
• You liked it.
• She typed back:
• Come pick it up. I’ll be waiting.
• There was no reply.
• So she put it on anyway.
• Tied the robe tighter this time.
• And waited.
• Naked underneath.
• Cade didn’t knock this time.
• He let himself in.
• She was on the couch again, legs tucked under her, robe drawn but loose. Her lips glossed. Hair still wet from a second shower.
• She looked up. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile.
• "Did you come for the robe?"
• He shut the door behind him. Locked it.
• "No. I came to tell you it can’t happen again."
• She stood.
• Let the robe slide off one shoulder.
• "Then why did you lock the door?"
• He crossed the room in three long strides.
• Gripped her jaw.
• "Because I knew if I saw you again, I’d forget every fucking reason I’ve been trying to hold onto."
• She whispered, "Then forget."
• He slammed his mouth to hers.
• The robe fell.
• She didn’t even make it to the couch.
• He lifted her, pinned her to the wall, and buried his cock inside her like he’d been starving for it since the moment he left.
• She cried out, nails digging into his shoulders.
• "Cade—fuck—yes, yes."
• "Say it again. Say my fucking name."
• "Cade. Cade. Oh my God—"
• He fucked her against the wall, hard and deep, hands gripping her thighs, lips devouring hers between every desperate thrust.
• "You’re mine when I’m inside you," he growled.
• She whimpered, nodding. "Yes. Yours. Only yours."
• He carried her to the floor, laid her back, spread her legs.
• And fucked her until she forgot her own name.
• When she came, she screamed.
• And when he came, it was with her name on his lips.
• Not her husband’s.
• Just Elle.
• Just his.