The house was quiet the next morning. Sunlight sliced through the half-closed blinds of the master bedroom, painting thin gold bars across the duvet.

Mark had barely slept. He’d lain awake most of the night, cock rick hard, mind replaying every second of the lay by in brutal detail: Sophie’s mouth stretched around him, her cunt clenching like a fist, the way she’d begged “Daddy” while he flooded her. Then the guilt had rolled in like black tidal wave until he finally drifted off sometime after four, only to wake at every small sound: a car passing, the radiator ticking, the faint creak of floorboards.