I hadn't unpacked much. Just a single suitcase in the corner, a few toiletries in the upstairs bathroom, and my favorite silk robe draped over the edge of the bed I didn't belong to.
Lina had insisted I stay as long as I needed. "Family first," she said with a soft, worried smile, as if I might break if she said anything less. And maybe I would have, a few weeks ago.
But now I was just… floating. Quiet. Hollowed out.
The divorce had been bloodless but brutal. A slow, sterile death of something that was never really alive to begin with. Thirteen years with a man who touched me like I was glass, and not the kind that shatters—just the kind that's cold.
I lay back on the guest bed, my head against the pillows still scented faintly of detergent and girlhood. Lina's old room. Pastel walls. A desk cluttered with makeup bags and notebooks. She never quite grew out of the chaos.
The doorbell rang downstairs.
I turned my head slightly, not moving otherwise. I didn't recognize the sound at first—this wasn't my home. Not really. But then I heard her footsteps—light, quick, the unmistakable shuffle of excitement—and something in my chest tightened.
"Coming!" she called.
She always was.
I closed my eyes, not from fatigue, but from some strange tension in the back of my mind. The way her voice rose when she was expecting someone specific. I didn't need to wonder who.
The front door creaked open.
Then—muffled laughter. A soft, pleased giggle. His voice. Deep. Casual. I couldn't make out the words, but I didn't need to. A thump followed—a sound I shouldn't have been able to place so clearly, yet did. A sharp, open-palmed slap. Then another laugh. Her voice this time. Higher. Pleased.
On her ass. He had smacked her ass.
My cheeks flushed, and I felt the sudden jolt of something I hadn't expected—something hot, treacherous, and low.
God.
David.
I'd met him only once before. Briefly. A family dinner a few months ago, back when I was still legally bound and emotionally numb. But I remembered his face. His voice. The way he filled out his shirt. The way Lina leaned into him, claiming him with her body like she didn't even realize she was doing it.
I shifted on the bed, suddenly aware of the space between my thighs. Too aware.
They were downstairs now, murmuring. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone—the rhythm—it was easy to imagine. Lina giggling, throwing herself into his arms. David backing her into a wall with that lazy confidence only young men seemed to possess. Hands under her skirt. Lips against her neck. Her sighs.
The room was too warm.
I rolled onto my side, pressing my thighs together and hating myself for it. I shouldn't be thinking this. She was my sister. And he—he was—
Young.
Strong.
Beautiful.
And he wanted her. God, he wanted her. You could hear it in the way he touched her, careless and claiming, like the world belonged to him. Like she belonged to him.
I exhaled through my nose and let my eyes close again. Just for a moment.
I imagined him climbing the stairs instead. Turning into this room. Finding me in my robe. Me pretending to be surprised. "Oh—I didn't know you were home."
His eyes would linger. He'd smile—slowly. Apologize. Step closer.
My breath caught in my throat.
I reached down and brushed the edge of my robe across my thigh. My skin was flushed beneath it, tingling. The silence in the room made everything louder—his voice in my head, the imaginary way he might say my name. Not Alexandra. No. Something smaller. Lex maybe. Or Alex.
No one had called me that in years.
Downstairs, a door slammed. Laughter again. Then silence.
I bit the inside of my cheek and pulled my robe tighter.
It wasn't wrong to imagine things. Not really.
Especially when imagining was the only thing that made me feel alive.
The house had gone quiet again. That was the worst part.
Not the sounds—no, those I could dismiss, excuse, forget. But silence? Silence left too much space. Space for the mind to fill.
I imagined the door to Lina's room closing. A soft click, then the familiar creak of her mattress. Her little gasps. His rough voice—teasing, maybe, or commanding. Either way, he'd take his time. I could feel it. David didn't strike me as the fumbling type. He was the kind of man who watched, waited. The kind that learned a woman before he touched her.
And he had learned Lina. She made it so easy.
I pictured her lying on her back, legs spread, welcoming him without hesitation. Smiling up at him like she deserved it. Like she was entitled to his body, his hands, his mouth. All of it.
I imagined his hands curling under her thighs, pulling her down the bed. Her laughing breath hitching when he pushed inside her, thick and eager. Maybe she liked it slow. Maybe she liked it hard.
My breathing quickened. I pressed my palm against the dip in my lower stomach, as if to stop the heat from spreading—but it didn't work. It pulsed. It throbbed.
God, the way he must look when he's on top of her.
Naked. Muscles flexed, jaw tight, eyes dark with hunger.
And her beneath him, moaning, clutching at his back like she belonged there.
I shifted again—my thighs rubbing together, seeking relief. My robe had fallen slightly open around one leg, the cool air brushing against my skin. My hand slid lower, slowly, tracing my thigh, grazing higher.
I shouldn't.
But I didn't stop.
Not yet.
I imagined him looking at me instead. Catching me like this—robe slipping, legs parted, eyes wide with guilt. And then I imagined that he didn't stop walking. That he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
What would he do?
Would he be shocked? Would he apologize and leave?
No. He'd just look at me. That deep, unreadable stare. One step closer. Then another.
"You're beautiful," he'd say, voice low. "You don't have to hide it."
My fingers brushed higher, grazing over damp fabric. I swallowed hard. My heart was thudding now, a traitor in my chest.
Maybe he wouldn't even speak. Maybe he'd kneel between my legs. His breath would ghost over my skin. And he'd look up at me as if he were about to sin—but wouldn't stop.
I bit my lip—too hard. My hips arched forward against my own hand, needy, desperate.
Lina wouldn't know. She never paid attention.
She always thought I was so... good. So safe.
If only she knew what I thought about when I closed the door. When I laid in her old bed, listening to her perfect life unfold room by room while I drowned in want.
Maybe she'd cry.
Maybe she'd scream.
Or maybe—maybe she'd watch. Frozen in the doorway while her boyfriend licked my wetness off his fingers and whispered that he'd always wanted someone older. Someone who knew how to be soft and cruel at the same time.
I gasped—just once—then clamped my lips shut.
A car passed by outside. The house creaked. Distant footsteps again. Maybe the fridge opening.
I pulled my robe closed, panting quietly. My skin was flushed, sticky with heat. I didn't finish.
I couldn't finish.
Not like that.
Not until I had more than just thoughts.
I wanted to see him again. Really see him. Up close.
And next time… I wouldn't be lying in bed when he walked through that door.
By the time Lina called me down for dinner, I had reapplied my lipstick three times.
It didn't matter. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. Not really. I was just being polite. Presentable. It would've been rude to show up at the table looking like I'd spent the afternoon… well.
I stepped into the dining room, heart calm, face serene.
David was already seated.
He turned his head when I entered—and smiled. Just a simple, polite smile. The kind you give your girlfriend's older sister when she walks into the room.
But I felt it like a slap.
His hair was damp, pushed back carelessly, as if he hadn't bothered to dry it after a shower. A plain black T-shirt clung to his chest—just tight enough to hint at the body beneath. He looked comfortable. Effortless.
Young.
"Alex!" Lina beamed. "I made your favorite. I texted Mom and she reminded me what you used to love."
I smiled back, automatic. "That's sweet of you."
I sat down opposite David. He gave me a small nod, fork in hand.
"Nice to see you again," he said, voice smooth. "How's the move going?"
"It's…" I reached for my glass of water, willing my voice to steady. "Peaceful. Surprisingly."
He chuckled softly. "That's a rare thing after a divorce, right?"
I tilted my head, curious. "You speak from experience?"
"Nah," he shrugged. "Just observations. My parents split up when I was twelve. It was… messy."
I watched him as he spoke. The ease in his posture. The way his forearm flexed when he lifted his glass. His lips were slightly chapped—just a little. Not enough to be unattractive. In fact, they looked…
Soft.
Lina laughed at something he said. I hadn't been listening. I nodded, pretending I had.
She leaned over and touched his arm, her fingers light and claiming. "He's being modest. He's the most grounded guy I've ever dated."
Of course he was.
I took a slow bite of pasta, chewing carefully. Watching the two of them through lowered lashes.
She adored him.
And he… well, he seemed amused by her. Indulgent. His smile for her was real, but there was a distance to it. A slight detachment.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
"Alexandra," David said suddenly.
I blinked. "Yes?"
"You've got a little—" He pointed near his own lip. "Sauce."
"Oh." I dabbed quickly with my napkin. "Thanks."
His eyes lingered a half-second longer than necessary.
My pulse jumped.
Lina didn't notice. She was already talking about some yoga retreat she wanted to drag us to next month. "It'll be good for you," she said brightly. "You can detox all that marital trauma."
David chuckled. "You're a little intense sometimes, Lina."
"Hey!" she pouted, elbowing him.
He caught her arm before she could retract it and kissed the inside of her wrist.
My stomach turned. Not in disgust. In longing.
She didn't even realize how lucky she was. She had that without earning it. Without needing to try. She just woke up and existed and it was hers.
I had to watch from across the table.
I had to sit here, smiling, nodding, sipping water—while he licked tomato sauce off his thumb and made my thighs press tighter beneath the table.
I needed to breathe.
"I'll just get some wine," I murmured, rising.
In the kitchen, I gripped the edge of the counter, eyes shut.
Don't be obvious. Don't act strange.
You're not a child.
You're not desperate.
But as I poured the wine, I imagined walking back into the room with the glass in my hand, and David looking up at me—really looking. His eyes lingering a little too long. His thoughts tipping just slightly toward curiosity.
I took a long sip before returning.
And this time, when I sat down, I didn't avoid his eyes.
I let them find mine.
Just once.
Just long enough for a flicker of heat to pass between us.
Even if it was all in my head.