Her palms roamed, greedy, worshipful. Over my pecs, nails scraping the ridges, pinching my nipples hard enough to make me hiss.
Down the ladder of my abs—one, two, three… eight—counting under her breath like a prayer she didn't believe in until now, her fingers trembling with every cut line, every vein, every inch of skin that burned under her touch.
Her mouth followed, open and starving, tongue lashing across my chest, sucking bruises into my skin, teeth sinking in just enough to mark me, to claim me back.
I carried her through the apartment, past the silent monuments to her perfect life—Berkeley, Stanford Law, framed like trophies she no longer gave a shit about, the glass cool under my shoulder as I slammed her against the wall for a second, grinding my cock against her clit through the soaked lace until she sobbed my name.
Kicked her bedroom door so hard it bounced off the wall with a bang that echoed like a gunshot.
Dropped her on the edge of the bed.
