The house breathed around us—dust motes dancing in fractured streetlight through familiar windows although we had just moved a few days ago, the faint scent of aged wood and memories clinging to the air.
This was the living room where I'd played video games, argued with Tommy, learned to be Peter Carter. Tonight, it would become an altar.
Sofia stepped forward, her heels silent on the worn carpet, eyes wide as she took in the battered leather sofa, the childhood photos on the walls. She looked like a sacrificial lamb in a den of ghosts.
"Lucky you," I murmured, shutting the door with a soft thud that sealed us in. "First woman. Last woman. Ever." I let the absurdity hang—my sanctuary, defiled for her. I have never even fucked Madison here. But Sofia would bleed her surrender onto these floors. "You get to be the ruin in the temple of Peter Carter."
"Now it's a testing ground. Strip."
The command was quiet, but it hit like a slap. Her breath hitched. "Here? Now?"
