Twisted Passions #07

She released her body the way you unlock a dam. Flood. That January 4. He’d just slid the strap off her shoulder, left the silk lying open like a dare. Nothing soft about what came next. He pinned her against the wall—cold plaster against her spine, his teeth already marking the inside of her thigh. She was wet before he finished undressing. Didn’t matter. He spread her with two fingers, worked the knot of her clit until she barked his name between clenched teeth. Then he shoved inside her, one thrust, all the way. Skin slapping, slick and loud, the rough knuckles of his hand braced beside her ear. She clawed at his back, pulled him deeper, heels locked behind his knees. Every stroke knocked the breath out of her, every wet grind sent sparks up her spine. The air smelled like sweat and sin. She came shaking, voice gone hoarse, and he kept moving through the clench, relentless. Sunlight spilled over the floorboards like evidence. Neither of them spoke. Just the sound of their breathing, heavy and lost, filling the room. The date stays in her head like a scar.