Page 58 of Yearn
Yet. . .time passed, and she never came back downstairs that night.
I waited, cock still out, cum drying sticky on my skin.
Staring at the ceiling.
Listening for the sound of her oncoming steps, her voice, her scent drifting down to me again.
Nothing.
The hours stretched, and the silence grew heavy.
How much did she regret it?
Was she upstairs convincing herself it hadn’t happened, that her lips hadn’t parted under mine, that her hand hadn’t stroked my cock like she’d been born knowing exactly how to undo me?
Maybe she was up there telling herself it was a mistake. That she was a mother first, and I was just a line she should’ve never crossed.
Perhaps, she thought she took advantage of me.
My chest tightened.
I knew what I’d felt.
What she’d felt.
Even if she tried to bury it, even if she ran from it, I wasn’t letting go.
She could regret it all she wanted.
I wasn’t going to stop.
Not after tonight.
Chapter eleven
Warm Syrup, Cold Nerves
Teyonah
The next morning, I woke up thinking. . .
I should’ve gone back downstairs and fucked him.
The taste of his mouth still haunted me and had my body humming for him.
But after reading the bedtime stories to the kids, my bedroom door clicked and the quiet wrapped around me tight—fear, confusion, guilt braided into one hard knot. I went to sleep sexually frustrated and battling so many thoughts.
Girl. . .just get ready for the day.
As I washed and dressed, I told myself that I would go down to his basement apartment first thing, knock like a grown woman, talk about boundaries and all the reasons this was a bad idea.
Instead. . .when I got downstairs, I realized Dominic had plans of his own.
I stepped into the kitchen and froze.
What is this? Everyone is already here.
Dom moved around the stove like a chef—pan tilted, wrist loose, flipping pancakes in clean, confident arcs.
