Yelena hadn't expected this, her heart lurched so violently she thought it might leap into her throat.
Charlotte was the kind of sleeper who could snooze through thunderstorms and fire alarms; once she was out, she was gone until morning.
That was why Yelena hadn't bothered worrying about her daughter coming downstairs, why she'd been so brazen, straddling Mika with her bra slipped low, her bare skin pressed against his face, lost in the heat of the moment like there wasn't another soul in the house.
But now Charlotte stood right there in the doorway, eyes wide, taking in the scene from above, and Yelena's whole body locked up.
Mika reacted instantly, pulling Yelena's bra back over her nipples, trying to shield at least some semblance of modesty, but it still didn't make it any better.
To an outsider, Yelena wasn't just hovering, she was riding, flushed face tilted down, breasts mashed against Mika's head, every line of her body screaming intimacy.
