The rhythm built, gentle at first, then wild with a desperation they both tried and failed to hide. His hips met hers in steady, urgent strokes, his breath hot against her ear. She answered him with broken moans, soft and trembling, echoing in the stillness like confessions.
He was everywhere—above her, around her, inside her. His mouth traced a fevered path along her shoulder, her collarbone, her jaw, her lips, her tongue… His hand gripped her thigh, anchoring her, while the other cradled the nape of her neck like a vow.
And Lorraine forgot everything as her fingernails dug into his back.
Her name.
Her lies.
Even her pain.
All that remained was him. The feel of him, the weight of him, the fire of him, igniting her from the inside out.
