The house was asleep, or at least it pretended to be. Shadows clung to the walls, and the silence had a weight to it, as if the very air wanted to keep their secrets safe. She lay in the guest room, eyes wide open, the sheets tangled around her legs. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt him again, his hands, his lips, the way his breath had caught when he finally admitted he couldn't resist her.
She hated it. She loved it. She hated herself for loving it.
A faint knock at her door shattered the stillness. Her heart stuttered. She sat up quickly, brushing her hair back with trembling fingers. "Who is it?" she whispered.
His voice came low, careful. "It's me."