Alekos
I placed her on the bed like she was something sacred I wasn't sure I was allowed to touch.
I didn't think. I just moved.
Piece by piece, I started removing her robe—each layer, each knot, each breath in between making me lose myself a little more. The room was dark, bathed only in the low light spilling from the bathroom, and every inch of her skin glowed like a secret.
Never—never in my life had I imagined this.
Her.
Me.
Now.
I reached for the last tie of the robe, but something caught.
The fabric wouldn't budge.
I froze, my hands trembling with a mix of panic and desire. "I—I think it's stuck—"
She sat up, breathless, lips parted from the kiss I hadn't stopped thinking about since I first saw her in that robe.
And then—without a word—she stood.
She walked toward the bathroom light like a vision, and right there at the threshold, she unfastened the last knot herself.
The robe slipped off.
The red lace followed.
She tossed it behind her into the bathroom like it meant nothing.
But I was frozen.
Because there she stood—bare, backlit by golden light—her silhouette soft, her body curved, her skin flushed.
And on the side of her left hip, just above the bone—
A tattoo.
Small. Faint. Intimate.
I couldn't see what it said.
I didn't need to.
She turned her head slightly, her hair falling against her shoulder.
And that was it.
I tore off my shirt and crossed the room, fast, unstoppable. My hands slid under her thighs, her arms wrapped around my neck, and I lifted her—again—carried her like I had no idea how I ever survived without the weight of her against me.
I laid her back on the bed, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her jaw, the corner of her lips.
"I've got you," I whispered.
Her eyes met mine.
And in the softest voice—barely audible over my heartbeat—she said:
"Kiss me."
I did.
Happily. Desperately.
And I didn't stop.
Her hands moved like they had a mind of their own.
While I kissed her—desperate, slow, grateful—I felt her fingertips drift down my chest… then across my stomach… and lower.
She was tracing my abs.
Not casually.
Like she was memorizing them.
I broke the kiss for half a second, breath caught in my throat.
"Selin—oh my God—what are you doing to me?"
She smirked. Smirked. Like she knew.
I was losing my mind.
I moved fast, instincts overriding logic. My fingers went to my waistband. The sound of the belt unbuckling was too loud in the quiet room. I was seconds from yanking everything off—ready—
Until she pressed her hand on my chest.
I froze.
"What?" I whispered, confused.
She looked up at me, calm as ever. "Wait."
I blinked, my body literally screaming in twenty different languages. "Wait...?"
She nodded and said, completely serious:
"I don't like it when a guy takes his pants fully off."
I stared at her like she'd just told me she believes in vampires.
"What?"
"It gives me the ick," she said flatly. "Like—just the sight of a guy standing there completely naked except for socks? No. Keep them on."
My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Then: "You're joking."
"I'm dead serious."
I blinked. "So you want me to—what—half-undress?"
"Just lower them enough," she said with a shrug. "Like... suggestion. Not full exposure."
I stared.
She stared back.
And honestly?
I'd never been more turned on and confused in my life.
I sighed, gave her a look, and muttered, "You're going to be the death of me."
Then I did what any man would do when the most beautiful woman he's ever touched gives him the strangest turn-on confession imaginable:
I obliged.
Half-on. Fully willing.
Because it was her.
And whatever rules she made, I'd follow them.
Gladly.
She wrapped her legs around me—and that was it.
Control? Gone.
She clutched my shoulders, breath ragged, voice already rising as she arched into me. "Faster," she whispered at first—but it became louder, more urgent, with every thrust.
I obeyed.
And then she started saying my name.
Not once. Not quietly.
She shouted it. Criedit. Like it was the only word she knew.
Every time she moaned it into my skin, something inside me twisted tighter, rougher. I was losing myself. Drowning in her. She came, and I felt her whole body quake beneath my hands—shaking, clinging, undone.
I was about to stop—pull back, breathe—but then she looked at me with wide, wild eyes.
And I flipped her over.
Because I wasn't finished.
Her voice cracked when I pushed back into her from behind. Her nails gripped the sheets. Her back arched. And I could feel every sound in her throat before she even made it.
When she moaned my name again—louder this time—my vision blurred. I leaned over her, breath hot against her neck.
The room echoed with her, filled with her. The sound of her—broken, breathless, beautiful—made me lose whatever self-control I had left.
And just when I thought I'd shattered her—
I pulled her onto me.
Let her take control.
And God.
Seeing her on top of me, riding me, her body moving in ways that wrecked me—I wasn't prepared. I would never be prepared.
"Can I kiss you?" I asked, voice raw. "All of you?"
She didn't even hesitate.
"Do whatever," she moaned.
Big mistake.
She shouldn't have said that.
I smirked. "You sure about that?"
She nodded.
How can I say no to that?
So I did.
Her stomach. Her ribs. Her chest.
And when I kissed her breasts—gently at first, then with reverence—she gasped, flushed, and tried to cover her face.
"God, your breasts—" I murmured against her skin, half in awe, half delirious. "Perfect."
"Shut up, Alekos," she mumbled between moans. "Oh my God—stop talking—"
But I didn't.
Because I never wanted this to end.
Selin
I didn't know where I was.
No, I did—physically.
I was in bed. Our bed. The sheets were a disaster. The pillows had given up on structural integrity. The walls? Probably traumatized.
My body?
An exorcised spirit.
A puddle of something that used to be Selin Yildiz and now answered only to "yes, Alekos" on loop.
I was still panting. Still moaning, honestly—even though my voice had turned hoarse hours ago. Literally hoarse. Like I'd either been to a rock concert or got possessed by a demon who couldn't handle it.
Alekos had me laid out like a damn sacrifice. Flat on my back, legs spread, soul ascending. And he just kept going. Slow. Unforgiving. Like he was trying to write poetry with his hips and I was the paper.
His stamina?
Not human.
I don't care what he says. That man was forged in Mount Olympus. Sculpted by war gods. Dipped in sweat and vengeance and reborn in testosterone.
"What is this man made of?" I moaned into the pillow, half delirious, half clinging to my last surviving brain cell.
From above me, I heard it—that dark, low, demonic laugh that meant he was enjoying this far too much.
"He grinned like the devil himself. "Titanium, baby," he whispered against my skin, right before he bit my collarbone like dessert.
I gasped. "You need therapy."
"You need water," he muttered back, trailing his mouth down my throat. "And electrolytes."
"I need a priest," I croaked.
His black hair was soaked. A wet mess hanging in his face. His chest gleamed with sweat, rising and falling above me like some kind of depraved Greek statue. And his eyes—his ridiculous green eyes—they glowed even in the dark.
Even in the low light, they glimmered.
He was hot.
Like, disgustingly hot.
Like illegal levels of hot. Like, if I saw him on the street, I'd assume he was AI-generated. Or paid hourly.
Like, disgustingly hot.
And the worst part?
He knew it.
What was I even saying?
His lips brushed my ear, and in the filthiest, most smug voice imaginable—low, sinful, and smiling—he said:
"Baby, I could fuck you for centuries."
I whined.
Not a cute one. A full-bodied, existential collapse.
"Stop talking," I croaked, slapping his shoulder. "You're making it worse."
"You're the one who told me to do 'whatever.'" His voice dropped an octave—low, teasing, entirely unholy. "I'm just following orders."
"I take it back," I wheezed. "You're fired. You're expelled. Go touch grass."
He leaned down, kissing the side of my neck like he hadn't just rearranged my entire internal compass. "You love it."
"I fear it," I corrected, "but yeah, that too."
He didn't stop.
Of course he didn't.
He was moving again. Like I hadn't just spiritually floated out of my body and left a note behind saying, "brb, experiencing ego death."
Again?
My brain cells held an emergency conference. Half of them screamed in protest. The other half ordered popcorn.
"Alekos," I rasped, "I can literally see stars. I'm about to file a noise complaint on myself."
He just winked. WINKED.
"Then scream louder."
Oh.
Okay.
So we were doing that again.
I wrapped my arms around him—because at this point, if I was going down, I was taking him with me.
He kissed my cheek—gentle, like he hadn't just ended me—then down to my jaw, mouth trailing like a man with no remorse.
"I'm seeing God."
"Tell Him I said hey."
I tried to glare at him. Failed. My facial muscles were out of commission.
And he just… kept going.
At some point, I became convinced I had crossed into a different dimension. One where time didn't exist, stamina was endless, and my husband had no earthly reason to be this feral.
"You're still here?" he muttered against my skin. "Resilient."
"You're still talking?" I gasped. "You need to be arrested."
He kissed me again, and I let him.
Because of course I did.
And as I lay there—sweating, trembling, ruined in the most poetic way imaginable—I realized something that terrified me more than all of it:
I wanted more.
I didn't just survive this man.
I wanted him.
Even if I didn't live to tell the story.
Alekos
I didn't even know where I was for a second.
Everything was bright. Too bright. The kind of light that forced your eyes open just enough to make your head throb. My limbs felt heavy, my body… wrecked. Spent.
I blinked, once. Twice.
And then I remembered.
Her skin. Her voice. Her laugh—right before she lost it and screamed my name like it was the only damn word left in the world.
Selin.
The realization hit me like a freight train on fire.
I sat up too fast, dragged my hands down my face, and groaned into my palms.
What the hell did I do?
No—correction. What the hell didn't I do?
I glanced at her—her body wrapped in the aftermath, tangled in the sheets like a dream that should've come with a warning label. Sunlight slanted across her cheekbone, soft and golden, like even the morning had the decency to treat her gently.
I reached over before I could stop myself.
My fingers brushed her face. Her lips. Her lashes.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "For going feral on you. "
She didn't stir.
She didn't need to.
I hoped she felt it anyway—the apology tucked in the quiet of my touch, in the breath I didn't know I was holding.
I got up quietly, body protesting like I'd gone through a war. Which—honestly—I had. An emotional, physical, spiritual war. One I lost to a five-foot-something Turkish girl who moaned my name like it was sacred scripture.
And then mocked me between orgasms.
I left the room, still in the only clothing I had left: my damn underwear. Pathetic. I looked like a one-man tragedy heading toward a cold shower and an identity crisis.
Once I stepped under the water, I froze.
Literally and mentally.
Because it all came back in cinematic, painfully high-definition flashes:
Her voice. The sound of my name echoing off the walls.
The smirk.
The "I don't like pants off" rule.
The insane stamina I somehow pulled out of thin air like I was Poseidon in a Greek porno.
And then her riding me like she was trying to rewrite mythology.
I slammed a hand against the shower tile.
"Fucking hell."
I stood under the freezing stream like it would purify me.
It didn't.
My body was still too raw, too wired. The memory of her—warm, begging, completely wrecked by me—wrapped around my brain like barbed wire and silk.
And then my hand moved.
I didn't even think.
I just… needed to feel her one more time. Needed to release the hurricane she left inside me. I gripped the wall, head bowed, water trailing down my back.
And when I came, it wasn't just a release—it was a surrender.
Her name left my lips like a prayer.
"Selin…"
I slumped forward, chest heaving, steam thick around me like penance.
And then—
The shame hit.
Like a freight train all over again.
I stood in the mirror, water dripping off my face, my hair soaked and falling in my eyes. I looked deranged.
"Pull it together," I told my reflection.
It didn't respond. Probably afraid of me.
I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist, and stepped out like a man freshly baptized and still unholy.
Then—
A knock.
Light. Cautious.
"Alekos?" Her voice.
I froze.
"Your mom's here," she said through the door, like she wasn't the same woman who made me forget my name six hours ago. "And your dad came with her. They're in the kitchen. Breakfast is ready."
I blinked. Stared at the ceiling.
Of course.
Of course the first people I have to face after committing sin-level lust are my parents.
Just fantastic.
I rubbed my face again, groaned into the void, and whispered, "They're definitely going to ask about the sex."
Because my mother? She knows things.
And my dad?
He'll just give me that look.
I took one last breath. Centered myself.
And prepared to face judgment.
In a towel.
With her name still on my lips.
God help me.
Selin
When I opened my eyes, he wasn't there.
But oh, I felt him.
Every inch of me—from my aching thighs to the dull throb at the base of my spine—was singing the Alekos Stavros National Anthem. And I was the only member of the band, limping through the chorus like I'd fought in the war.
I rolled onto my side, slowly, like an old woman post-battle. My voice cracked when I groaned, barely recognizable, and when I sat up…?
Jesus.
The sheet slid down my chest—and that's when I saw it. His masterpiece.
Hickeys. Everywhere.
Along my collarbone. Across my breasts. Down to my ribs. I looked like a canvas that had been violated by a passionate artist with no boundaries and a vendetta against clear skin.
I gasped. "Alekos!"
It was a curse. A whisper. A prayer. A warning.
And yet…
My hand lingered on one of the deeper ones, just above my heart. My cheeks warmed. My stomach fluttered.
I liked it.
I liked that he did this. That he marked me like he couldn't help himself. Like he needed to prove something to the world—even if that world was just me and our poor, traumatized bed frame.
I took a short, hot shower, mostly to rinse off the sins, and then covered myself in the universal armor of shame and denial: sweatpants and a hoodie.
Hood up. Bra off. Skin hidden. Soul still vibrating.
I was halfway to convincing myself last night was a vivid fever dream when I heard the front door click open.
Voices followed.
Oh no.
"Oh, Selin!" Nilay's familiar voice called from the living room.
His mother.
I panicked for all of two seconds before rushing downstairs in autopilot, straight into her arms.
Nilay hugged me like I was her long-lost daughter—warm, all-consuming, and suspiciously observant. The woman smelled like floral perfume and the scent of someone who knows things.
"Well?" she whispered, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye. "How was it?"
My soul left my body.
My jaw opened. Closed. I blinked.
"W-what?"
Nilay grinned like a cat who'd caught a very naked, very sweaty mouse. "Come on. You can tell me. You two disappeared for twelve hours. You're walking like you just ran a marathon."
"Nilay," Alton said sharply, clearing his throat like a man married to chaos. "Leave the poor girl alone."
But did she stop?
Of course not.
"I just want to know if it was worth the wait," she continued, utterly shameless. "You looked radiant last night, and today you're… glowing. Tired, yes. Ravaged, definitely. But glowing."
"Nilay ," Alton muttered, dragging her toward the kitchen by the elbow. "Fix breakfast before you start interviewing our daughter-in-law like a tabloid journalist."
She rolled her eyes, still beaming. "Fine, fine. Go tell that animal son of mine breakfast will be ready in five."
I nearly bolted toward the stairs.
Because yes, I wanted to escape that conversation—but more than anything, I needed to see him.
Alekos.
Only this time, something felt different.
I walked toward his room, slower than usual. We used to be easy around each other. Comfortable.
But this morning…?
This morning my legs still trembled when I thought about the way he moved. The way he whispered. The way he took me like he'd been holding back for years.
The door to his room was slightly open.
The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom.
My heart clenched.
He was overwhelmed.
He always did this—shower when he didn't know how to process something. Water grounded him. Hid him.
And still, I needed to speak. Even if it was through a door. Even if it meant he didn't answer. I needed to know he was okay.
But the door cracked open wider.
And I saw him.
All of him.
Steam curled around his body like something out of a dream. His tall frame glistened—broad shoulders, narrow waist, sculpted stomach, his black hair dripping into his eyes. But it wasn't just that.
It was the scars.
Old ones. Faint. Some long, some jagged. Across his back.
My throat tightened.
Painful. Unspoken. And suddenly, the man who'd destroyed me with kisses felt fragile in a way I didn't expect.
But then—then I saw him.
Hard.
Touching himself.
My breath caught. I should've turned away. I wanted to. But I didn't.
Couldn't.
His hand gripped the wall, the other wrapped around himself, his head tilted back with a groan—lewd, broken, desperate.He looked like a man possessed.
And then—
"Selin."
He moaned my name.
Not in question.
In worship.
Something flipped in my stomach. My thighs clenched. Heat pooled low and fast.
He wasn't just lusting.
He was yearning.
For me.
I wanted to go to him.
To touch him. Whisper something. Kiss the scars. Let him know he didn't have to hide, not from me.
But I didn't.
Instead, I stepped back. Quiet. Breathless. Shaken.
I waited outside his door, hoodie clutched in my fists, my heart pounding against ribs that still bore his love bites.
He'd come out soon.
And when he did, I'd act normal.
Tell him breakfast was almost ready.
Pretend I didn't just watch the man I married moan my name like it was the only thing keeping him sane.
Pretend I wasn't starting to develop something for him.
Completely.
Madly.
Dangerously.
Even if I didn't survive it.
Alekos
By the time I made it downstairs—freshly dressed, hair damp, pretending I wasn't sexually and emotionally deranged—Selin was already seated at the table.
So was my mother.
And she was smiling.
Too much.
"Good morning, sweetheart," she said brightly, sliding a plate of borek in front of Selin like this wasn't a trap.
"Morning," Selin croaked.
Still hoarse.
My father looked up from his paper. "Sleep well?"
Selin visibly froze. Fork hovering. Blinking like she was under interrogation.
I cleared my throat. "She did."
She whipped her head toward me like shut up.
Nilay beamed. "She certainly looks like she did."
"Mom," I warned.
"What?" she said innocently. "I'm just saying—our girl is glowing."
Selin choked on her tea.
My father gave me a look. The one that said, Control your mother before she asks what positions you used.
I tried. "Can we not?"
Nilay sipped her coffee, unbothered. "You're both adults. Married. What's the big deal? Back in my day, if a woman came down the stairs with that look in her eyes—"
"Nilay," my father snapped, grabbing her elbow again. "Kitchen. Now."
She huffed, but stood.
Before leaving, she leaned down next to Selin and whispered, "You'll tell me later, right? Just nod."
Selin nodded —to survive.
And I groaned into my hands, praying for divine intervention.
Selin
The house had settled. The noise faded, the dishes clinked faintly in the kitchen, and the smell of breakfast lingered in the air like a memory.
I stood by the back door, arms wrapped around myself, watching the garden sway under the light morning breeze. My hoodie sleeves covered my hands, and I was rocking on my heels—not because I was cold, but because I didn't know what else to do with myself.
I heard him before I saw him.
Bare footsteps. A familiar pace. Then silence—because he'd stopped right behind me.
I didn't turn around.
Not yet.
"Hey," Alekos said, voice low. "Can I ask you something?"
I nodded without looking at him.
A breath passed between us. Then—
"Are you okay?"
It wasn't casual.
Not offhand.
It was quiet. Steady. Earnest.
Like it mattered more than anything.
I looked down at my sleeves. Pulled them tighter.
Then I finally turned to face him.
He looked… tired. Damp hair curling a little at the ends, his eyes darker under the soft kitchen light. He stood with his hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do with them. Like touching me might be too much right now, even if he wanted to.
"I mean it," he said softly. "I just… I know last night was a lot. I just want to make sure you're good. Really good."
I stared at him.
At this man who had wrecked me twelve hours ago with nothing but reverence and want.
But right now?
He looked like he was the one afraid he went too far.
I didn't speak. Not right away.
I stepped closer.
Just close enough for him to breathe easier.
Then I reached out, slowly, and fixed the little strand of hair that had fallen over his forehead.
It was such a small thing.
But he closed his eyes when I did it.
Like relief.
Like comfort.
I smiled, just a little. "I'm okay."
He looked at me for a long time after that.
No smirk.
No teasing.
Just quiet gratitude.
And I could tell—
That was all he needed to hear.
We were standing there.
Still.
Quiet.
For once, just breathing the same air and not trying to decode it.
Alekos had softened in front of me, in a way I wasn't used to. Vulnerable. Wordless. Like he wanted to say something else—but didn't need to anymore.
I was just about to ask if he was okay too.
And then—
"Well, look at you two! Whispering by the back door like it's a romantic drama!"
We both jumped.
I actually flinched.
Alekos muttered something that sounded dangerously close to a prayer for divine intervention.
Nilay stood at the edge of the doorway, hands on her hips, a spatula in one hand and an apron around her waist that read Kiss the Cook or I'll Ask Invasive Questions Anyway.
A threat.
A promise.
"I gave you five minutes, not five heartfelt revelations," she said, eyes flicking between us like she was watching the finale of a show she wasn't even supposed to know existed. "Breakfast is ready. Plates are on the table. The eggs are warm. Unlike your ability to hide how in love you are."
"Mom," Alekos said, voice deadpan, dragging a hand down his face.
"What?" she said, fully unfazed. "I'm just saying —Selin has that soft post-marriage glow and you look like you confessed your deepest trauma over toast."
"I didn't even have toast," he said.
"Oh, good," she chirped. "Then you can come eat some."
She turned around like she hadn't just steamrolled through the most delicate emotional atmosphere in the house and yelled over her shoulder:
"And Selin, sweetheart, if he starts brooding again, just feed him! Low blood sugar, high drama. Trust me!"
And then she was gone.
The silence she left behind was staggering.
I blinked up at Alekos.
He blinked down at me.
We both exhaled.
Simultaneously.
"I…" I started.
"Don't," he said.
"Right," I nodded. "Breakfast."
"Breakfast."
We walked back into the dining room in sync. Quietly. Pretending Nilay hadn't just drop-kicked intimacy into a pit and waved while it fell.
I should've seen it coming. The second Nilay looked at me with that raised eyebrow and squinting expression—the one she reserved for when someone was clearly hiding something—I knew I had maybe five seconds before I was dragged into a side conversation I would never recover from.
She set down her tea, stood, and turned to me with a practiced smile that screamed you're coming with me, no arguments.
"Selin," she said, "come with me for a moment, please."
I blinked. "Now?"
"Yes, now. I need to check something in the guest room—the one I use when I stay here."
Translation: It's interrogation time.
Alekos's fork paused mid-air. His head snapped up.
"No," he said flatly.
Nilay arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"I know what that 'check something' means," he muttered. "Mom, don't—"
She smiled. That terrifying, mother-of-a-storm smile. "Alekos, eat your eggs."
"What?"
"Eat. Your. Eggs. You need the protein."
Alekos's entire soul left his body. "MOM!"
Alton chuckled into his coffee without looking up.
"I want a new family," Alekos muttered, face red as the tomatoes on his plate. "Can I order one online?"
Nilay had already grabbed my wrist.
"Let's go, sweetheart. Before he starts whining louder."
"He's already at level seven," I whispered as she led me away.
"Then we'd better hurry," she said cheerfully. "We've got a good fifteen minutes before he builds the courage to follow us."
Inside the guest room, the door clicked shut behind us.
It was calm. Clean. Familiar. Nilay's usual space when she stayed over. But today, it felt like a very elegant interrogation cell.
She turned to me, crossing her arms.
"Okay," she said. "Let's start from the top. Are you okay?"
I nodded, just once. "Yeah. I'm okay."
Her eyes narrowed like she could see past my heartbeat.
"Was it good?"
"Nilay—"
"Selin."
I swallowed. "I mean… yeah. It was… good. It was sweet. Really soft. Very emotionally—uh—guided."
"Emotionally guided?" she repeated. "Sweetheart, that's how people describe couple's therapy, not what happened to you last night."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, attempting a completely fake cough and dramatically fixing my hoodie.
She blinked.
Then pointed.
"Lift the hoodie."
"Nilay—"
"Now. Unless you want me to call Alekos in here and ask him to describe what happened. In detail."
I sighed like the whole world was conspiring against me and slowly pulled the hoodie up.
Her eyes widened the moment the bruises came into view.
"Oh my God."
Nilay gasped so loud I was surprised birds didn't fly off the roof.
She grabbed the hem and yanked it up higher before I could stop her. "Oh. My. GOD. This boy treated you like a buffet. I raised a Greek vampire. These are—there's a trail, Selin!"
I tried to pull it down. "It's not that bad—"
"Not that bad?" she echoed, voice rising like an opera singer's final act. "Your chest looks like a topographic map of Mount Lustmore!"
"That boy turned you into a constellation. I could draw the northern hemisphere on your chest."
"Nilay!"
"Do you know how long your body took to recover? The chemo, the fatigue, the scans, the inflammation? And he thinks it's okay to use you as a midnight snack with no restraint?!"
"He was calm!" I insisted. "Really! He asked me if I was okay, he checked on me, he was... reverent."
She squinted. "Don't use religious vocabulary on me, girl. I know reverence. That ain't it."
"He was!" I said, but it was weak now, my cheeks burning. "It just… got intense."
"ALEKOS!"
Alekos
When my mom screamed my name like she was calling the police, I already knew I was in trouble.
Again.
I dropped my fork, again, and walked toward the hallway like a man heading into a live ambush. My mother stood by the guest room like she'd just uncovered the final piece of a war crime. Selin was behind her, holding her hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
"What?" I asked cautiously. "What did I do?"
"What did you do to her?" Nilay snapped.
"I—I was just eating eggs—?"
"Selin," she said, turning. "Hoodie."
Selin blinked. "Wait—again?"
"Now."
"Nilay, I'm still emotionally recovering from round one—"
"Lift. It."
She didn't wait.
She grabbed the hem and flipped the hoodie up.
Just like that.
Skin. No bra.
Me. Dead.
I froze.
For one full second, I couldn't think.
I wasn't even alive.
I just stared.
And then my brain screamed:
DON'T LOOK.
YOU'RE LOOKING.
STOP LOOKING.
Too late.
I definitely checked her out.
Just for a second.
Just a flash.
She looked incredible.
Stupidly beautiful.
Like a goddess.
The same girl I'd known my whole life, now standing there like—
Brain: gone.
I forgot how to breathe.
Forgot where we were.
Forgot English, Greek, and basic decency.
I was staring.
I tried to stop.
Really, I did.
But I looked.
Just long enough to burn the image into my brain forever.
Then—
A shoe hit my chest so hard I stumbled back a step.
"OW—MOM!"
"YOU PERVERT!" Nilay shrieked. "GET YOUR EYES OFF HER!"
"I—I didn't mean to look—okay, maybe I did, but it wasn't—"
"AND YOU'RE PROUD OF THIS?!"
I covered my chest like the shoe had done permanent emotional damage.
But something in me snapped—some feral, unrepentant, post-orgasm confidence I hadn't even realized I was carrying.
I smirked.
"I know what I did."
Mistake.
Big mistake.
Nilay let out a screech that could kill small animals and lunged for me like she was about to commit matriarchal homicide.
I turned and ran.
"THIS IS SPOUSAL NEGLIGENCE!" she screamed behind me. "AND YOU'RE HARD, TOO? IN FRONT OF YOUR MOTHER?!"
"THAT'S NOT MY FAULT, I WAS CAUGHT OFF GUARD—!"
Selin's laughter echoed behind us—genuine, unfiltered, flustered. She was red in the face, still holding her hoodie down, absolutely done with both of us.
And still—somehow—laughing.
I think that's what really did it.
Not the shoe.
Not the shame.
But the sound of her laughing like that.
Like she couldn't help it.
Like she actually didn't hate me.
And God help me—
I'd take a hundred shoes to the chest to hear it again.