They wrap up for the night but Emily can't stop thinking about it

The whiskey bottle sat half-empty between them when Emily finally stood, her fingers twisting the hem of her blazer as she murmured about morning plans—pharmacies, flights, pretending today never happened. Kevin nodded too quickly, watching her retreat to her adjoining room with a quiet click of the lock that felt louder than Mitchell’s Taser. The suite’s blackout curtains swallowed Atlanta’s skyline as he stripped to his boxers, the shower’s scalding water doing nothing to erase the memory of Emily’s thighs trembling around his hips.

The hotel AC hissed to life at 3:17 AM, jolting Emily awake with a gasp—her thighs clamped around a pillow, skin slick with sweat that had nothing to do with Georgia’s humidity. The dream clung like cobwebs: Kevin’s hands replacing Mitchell’s, his wedding band cool against her inner thigh as he whispered "Let me show you how it should’ve been." She threw the pillow across the room with a whimper, its trajectory knocking over the untouched room service tray where congealed fries testified to her sleepless night.

The shower ran for twenty-seven minutes—long enough for her fingertips to prune but not long enough to wash away the phantom pressure of Kevin’s hips grinding into hers. Toweling off, she caught her reflection biting her swollen lip and froze. That look—half shame, half hunger—wasn’t Dreher steel. It was the face of a girl who’d discovered her body could betray her twice: first in terror, now in want.

The shower’s steam curled around Emily’s trembling fingers as they slid between her thighs—hesitant at first, then with growing urgency as the memory of Kevin’s thickness filled her. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape, even as her hips arched into her own touch, chasing the shameful pleasure that coiled low in her belly. The loofah slipped from her grip as her breath hitched, her back pressing against the cold tile to ground herself against the rising tide of sensation.

Emily's fingers stuttered against her clit—pulling away twice before circling back with trembling determination. The shower's rhythmic patter against tile couldn't drown out the memory of Kevin’s choked groan when he came inside her, how his hips had jerked upward as if trying to burrow deeper even as his face twisted with guilt. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, trapping her own fingers between them as she imagined his wedding band glinting in the sterile light while those same hands gripped her hips.

The loofah lay forgotten at her feet as Emily's back arched off the tile, her free hand braced against the shower wall to steady herself. A whimper escaped her throat—half protest, half plea—as she imagined Kevin murmuring "good girl" against her ear instead of Mitchell's predatory growl. The orgasm hit like a betrayal, wringing a sob from her chest as her knees buckled, hot water sluicing away tears that could've been from pleasure or shame or both.