The Fine Print of Falling

I stood outside the bedroom door of my own apartment, keys still in my trembling hand.

I'd left work early. A surprise. The florist had called to confirm the wedding arrangements, and I'd felt a sudden, overwhelming need to see Leo, to wrap myself in the certainty of our future together. Three months until the wedding. Three months until I became Mrs. Leonard Hartwell, wife of the golden boy whose family vacationed with senators and whose trust fund had a trust fund.

The door was slightly ajar.

I'd heard the sounds before my mind could process them. Low moans. The rhythmic creak of bedsprings. A woman's breathy laughter.

My hand had frozen on the doorknob. Some distant, rational part of my brain had whispered: Walk away. You don't need to see this. Knowing is enough.

But I'd never been a coward.

I pushed the door open.

The late afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing everything in golden light. The room smelled of expensive perfume and sweat and sex. On the bed I'd shared with Leo for two years, my fiancé was buried deep inside my stepsister.

Genevieve's long blonde hair spilled across her back. Her back was arched, head thrown back in pleasure, lips parted as she rode Leo with wild abandon. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, pale and perfect, the kind of body men wrote poetry about and women envied in silence.

Leo gripped Genevieve's hips, fingers digging into soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. His face was flushed, eyes squeezed shut, lost in sensation. He looked more alive than I'd seen him in months.

"God, you're so tight," Leo groaned, thrusting up into Genevieve with desperate force. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples. "So much better than-"

"Than your boring little fiancée?" Genevieve purred, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate circle. She leaned forward, breasts pressed against Leo's chest, and bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "Tell me how much better I feel."

"So much better. Christ, Gen, you're perfect." Leo's hands moved to her backside, spreading her wider as he thrust deeper. "I should have done this months ago."

Genevieve threw her head back and laughed, the sound full of triumph. She ground down hard, taking him to the hilt, and Leo cursed, his whole body shuddering. She clenched around him, her inner muscles working him with practiced skill.

"You like when I do this?" Genevieve whispered, repeating the motion. "When I squeeze you like this?"

"Yes. God, yes."

My stomach lurched. I should leave. I should scream. I should do something other than stand there, frozen, watching the man I'd planned to spend my life with worship my stepsister's body.

Genevieve increased her pace, rising and falling with athletic grace. The wet sounds of their coupling filled the room, obscene and raw. Leo met each downward thrust with his own upward drive, their bodies slapping together in a primal rhythm I had