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SADIE

(Late) Night Eleven

I lie in the dark, completely naked and curled against Ethan’s chest.

He’s fucked me so long and deep I don’t know where my body ends and his begins. If I never have sex again, I won’t care—because nothing will ever touch this. He’s the standard I’ll measure everything else against, and I already know no one else will come close.

His hand moves slowly across my stomach, then drifts lower. When his fingertips brush against a scar—one of Jonathan’s —I flinch.

He pauses, his palm resting over it.

“I showed it to my lawyer,” I whisper. “And he still didn’t believe me.”

“Hmmm.” Ethan doesn't speak right away. Instead, he lets his hand gently roam over the mark like he’s trying to erase it.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and raw.

“I was willing to let the first rape go…” My throat tightens. “I really was…”

“I know,” he says, pulling me closer. “I know...”

He presses his lips to the top of my head, then my temple, wrapping both arms around me like he’s trying to shield me from everything—past, present, storm.

His hand moves in soft circles on my back.

And slowly, under the rhythm of his touch, I fall asleep in his arms.