A measured, relentless cadence. Heavy. Grounded. The unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin--not the frantic slap of casual s*x, but something slower. Hungrier. A rhythm that spoke of pressure and surrender, of someone being taken apart piece by piece.
Then a voice -- feminine, breathless, wrecked. "Oh my *God--*yes--yes--please--"
Shannon's breath caught. Not from embarrassment. Not quite from arousal, either. But something bloomed beneath her ribs. A tension. A flicker of something unnamed.
Craig kissed her neck, trying to pull her focus back. His c**k, hard and hot, pressed insistently against her thigh. She shifted, guiding him in with a practiced ease. That first stretch still made her catch her breath -- the thick length of him sliding home, deep and full, hitting that sweet ache
