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68

Reese

When I open my eyes the next morning, it takes me a couple of seconds to realize where I am. I blink at the watery light streaming in through the bay windows. The chipped paint on the panes remind me.

Drake. The cheap hotel.

I snap upright in bed and look around, scanning the room for him, but I don’t see him. There is an indentation in the pillow, but the sheets are cold. Memories of last night come tumbling back. Drake couldn’t get enough of my body. Sinking into me again and again. Like he couldn’t get deep enough. Like a beast. Like he hadn’t fucked in years. Surely, he hasn’t run out on me in a crummy hotel in the middle of nowhere?

So why do I feel this creeping sense of dread?

What if everything he whispered, roared, and growled last night was a lie? A technique to get what he wanted. What if all he ever wanted from me was a night of sex so he could move on already. The sudden sense of loss and hurt is so acute it makes me feel sick to my stomach. Until I hear his voice c
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