The Stash - Episode 13

The room shifted when she moved. She drew him in with slow, deliberate steps, and the air thickened around them. He watched the way her hips rolled, how her body told its own story before her mouth ever opened. She pressed him back against the wall and his breath caught. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, then slid lower, unbuttoning his shirt with careful impatience. When her palm met bare skin, heat flared between them. He pulled her closer, kissed the curve of her neck, tasted salt and want. She ground against him, teasing, until fabric became an afterthought. He slid inside her in one fluid motion. She clenched around him, breath stuttering, nails digging half-moons into his shoulders. He thrust, steady, deep, and she met every stroke with equal hunger. Sweat slicked their skin. The rhythm grew urgent. She moaned his name against his ear, hips snapping to take him deeper. He drove harder. Her climax tore through her first, body shuddering, then his followed, sharp and overwhelming. They stayed tangled, hearts still hammering, the world reduced to the press of skin and the echo of breath.