Ex boyfriend rival

Liora stirred the next morning, her body protesting every shift. Soreness gripped her from head to toe, a deep ache that rooted in her core and spread outward. Riven had pushed through the night, his stamina outlasting hers by far. She had tried to keep up, matching his rhythm for as long as possible, but eventually, her limits hit. Exhaustion overtook her mid-motion, and she drifted off while he continued, her form limp against him. Now, the evidence lingered—hickeys dotted her skin in clusters, from her collarbone down to her inner thighs, each one a faint throb when she moved.

She slid from the bed with care, easing her weight onto the floor to avoid jarring the tender spots. The mattress dipped slightly under her departure, but Riven remained asleep, his breathing steady. She stood there for a moment, testing her balance, legs shaky from the strain. Then she reached for her dried clothes folded on the nearby chair, the fabric cool against her fingers. She pulled on the dress first, the material clinging to her curves without underlayers, then slipped into her shoes. She paid no mind to the state of her hair or the marks visible on her neck; presentation held no priority after the upheaval of the previous day.

Pausing at the doorway, she turned back to the room. The bed sat disheveled, sheets twisted in knots, pillows askew from their earlier tangle. She shook her head slowly, the motion sending a wave of regret through her. Stupid, she repeated inwardly, the self-rebuke sharp and unrelenting. How had she ended up here, in his space, after everything with Thorne? The deal Riven proposed echoed in her mind—the two months of feigned partnership, her role as his arm candy to sting Thorne where it hurt most, and his claim on her in private. It tempted her, that path to payback, but now, in the harsh light of morning, it felt like another trap waiting to snap shut.

She moved through the hallway on quiet feet, the house silent around her. No one stirred as she reached the front door, turning the knob with a soft click. Outside, the air hit her face, carrying the faint chill of early hours. She stepped onto the path leading away from his property, her pace deliberate to manage the soreness pulling at her muscles. Each step reminded her of the night's intensity, the way Riven had taken control, drawing out responses she hadn't planned to give. She thought back to the car ride, the rain pounding outside while heat built inside, his mouth on her skin, fingers delving deep until release crashed over them both. It had started as revenge fuel, but the pull between them complicated things.

The walk home stretched longer than usual, her mind wandering through the mess of emotions. Thorne's betrayal replayed in fragments—the door to Marcus's apartment swinging open, Victoria's smug revelation, the vase shattering against the wall as her fury peaked. She had stormed out, flipping him off in final defiance, only for the downpour to soak her through. Then Riven appeared, pulling her into his world despite her resistance. Despise him as she did from their past, his offer aligned with her need to strike back. Yet lying with him had stirred old sparks, ones she thought long extinguished.

Doubts crowded her thoughts as she navigated the streets. Could she commit to the arrangement without losing herself? Riven's touch had been possessive, almost reverent, erasing Thorne's shadow for those hours. But morning brought clarity, and the hickeys served as brands, marking her choice. She adjusted the dress strap slipping off her shoulder, ignoring the exposure. Home loomed ahead, the familiar building a mix of comfort and contamination now.

Keys jingled in her hand as she approached the entrance, fumbling slightly from fatigue. She climbed the stairs, each one a test of endurance, her thighs burning with residual ache. At her door, she inserted the key, twisting it until the lock gave way. Pushing inside, the apartment enveloped her in stale air, unchanged from when she left in rage. And there, on the couch, lounged Thorne, remote in hand, flipping through options as if the world hadn't shifted.

He glanced up, eyes narrowing at her entrance. Setting the remote down, he rose to his feet, arms crossing over his chest. "Where have you been?" The question hung in the space between them, laced with entitlement, as though his infidelity granted him the right to demand explanations.

Liora halted just inside, door clicking shut behind her. She scanned him from boots to face, revulsion building in her gut. The sight of him, casual and unrepentant, fueled the fire she had banked overnight. She straightened her posture, arms folding in mirror to his. "And what are you still doing here?