She stops Remy

“Where do you think you’re going, slut?”

Remy freezes in the bathroom doorway. Mia is up on one elbow in the bed, hair messy, voice calm, eyes already on her. Adam is still asleep against her back, or pretending to be. Mia does not look like a woman who just woke up by accident.

Remy’s hand is on the doorframe. Last night is still running down her thigh.

“I was going to—”

“No.”

“Mia. I need the bathroom.”

“You’re not allowed to use it.” Mia sits up properly. The sheet falls to her waist. “You don’t get to wash my husband’s cum off in my house and walk out clean. You leaked on my floor. You can leak on the way home.”

Remy’s face burns. “That’s— I can’t go like this. I’m covered in it. It’s in my—”

“I know where it is.” Mia’s voice stays even. “I put it there. Get dressed and leave.”

“Please. Five minutes. I’ll be quick.”

“You had a whole night. You don’t get the morning too. Clothes. Door. Now.”

Remy looks at the bathroom like it might take her side. It doesn’t. She turns back toward the pile of her clothes near the rug — jeans, top, the underwear Mia peeled off her hours ago.

Mia watches her pick them up.

“One minute,” she says. “If you’re still standing in my bedroom after that, I will put you in the hall the way you slept. Naked. Marked. I mean that.”

Remy starts dressing with shaking hands. The top sticks to dried cum on her stomach. She reaches for her panties.

“Those stay.”

Remy stares. “What?”

“Your panties. Give them to me.”

“Mia. No. I have to go home. I have to—”

“You have to do what I tell you,” Mia says. “Those are a trophy. I want the underwear you wore to my apartment thinking you were going to teach me how to take a cock. I want them in my drawer. You can ride home without them. You can sit in a cab with my husband’s load in your cunt and nothing in the way of it. Give them.”

Remy holds the scrap of fabric like it still belongs to her. Mia puts her hand out.

“Don’t make me take them off you a second time. You already knelt. You already crawled. You already slept on the floor. This is a pair of panties, not a negotiation.”

Remy’s protests die in her raw throat. She puts them in Mia’s palm.

Mia closes her fist around them, looks at them once, and sets them on the nightstand like a receipt.

“Get out.”

Remy pulls her jeans up over nothing. The seam sits against her swollen, leaking cunt. She finds her shoes. She does not look at Adam’s face. She looks at the door.

Mia gets out of bed and follows her down the hall, still bare, panties in her other hand now as if Remy might try to steal the night back on the way out.

At the front door she stops Remy with two fingers on her jaw.

“Remember this when you sit next to me,” Mia says, quiet enough for the hallway, sharp enough to last. “You talked down to me at work. Then you came here and got used. You took my husband’s cock because I permitted it. You came on it. You swallowed it. You slept under our bed like what you were. If your mouth gets brave again in that office, I want you to feel last night when you cross your legs.”

Remy’s eyes are wet. She nods. That is all she has.

Mia opens the door.

Remy leaves dishevelled — hair wrecked, face still tight with dried cum she was not allowed to wash, jeans sticking, no underwear, walking like the night is still inside her. The corridor is too bright. She does not look back.

Mia shuts the door.

She goes back to the bedroom, drops Remy’s panties in the drawer of the nightstand, and climbs into bed. Adam’s arm opens for her without his eyes fully opening. She fits against him. The apartment is theirs again.

His voice is rough with sleep.

“Did you enjoy it?”

He already knows. He can feel it in the way she settles, in the little satisfied sound she makes against his chest, in the fact that she is smiling before she answers.