Rain drummed steadily against the bedroom window, February's cold pressing down on the city. Erica stood barefoot on hardwood, holding a glass of red wine she hadn't yet tasted, watching rivulets streak the glass. Behind her, John sat on the edge of their bed, shirt unbuttoned, waiting. "I've been thinking," she said without turning. Her voice was quiet but clear over the rain. "About going further." She heard the sheets...

Erica stood at the kitchen window, watching January snow blanket the garden in silence. Behind her, John's footsteps approached — she knew his rhythm by heart after so many years. "Coffee?" he asked, already pouring. She turned, accepting the mug with both hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. Two weeks had passed since New Year's Eve. Two weeks of replaying David's hands on her back, the heat in his eyes, the...

The bedroom light was low, a single lamp casting warm gold across the dresser mirror. Erica stood in front of it, fingertips smoothing the black dress over her hips one final time. The fabric clung exactly as she wanted - low in the back, exposing the soft dip of her spine almost to the curve of her waist, snug across her breasts and waist so every breath reminded her how it felt to be looked at with hunger. Her pale brow...