The old house held its breath. Sofia leaned against the familiar, scuffed leather sofa, chest heaving, limbs still trembling from the aftershocks I'd wrung from her with just my hands and mouth. My cum-coated fingers were proof.
But this? This was just the overture.
The air itself felt charged, thick with the scent of her release and the ghost of my childhood. Her eyes, wide and dark, tracked me like prey anticipating the final strike.
I didn't touch her. Not yet. I stood back, letting my gaze devour her. Eyes traced the frantic heave of her breasts—black lace straining like a cage, nipples jutting like dark jewels against the fabric. Sweat beaded between them, rolling down her sternum to disappear into the lace valley.
