Mirabel
I was on my knees with my twin sister’s fiancé’s c**k buried in my throat while she fixed her eyeliner in the next room.
The bathroom door was only half-closed. I could hear the soft click of her compact, the quiet hum of the makeup lights, the occasional muttered “f**k” when she smudged something. Three feet of hallway and a thin wall separated us. That was all. Three feet and the wet, filthy sounds of me choking.
Ronan’s hand was twisted in my hair so hard my scalp burned. He wasn’t gentle. He never was with me. He used my mouth like it was a hole that existed only for him to ruin. Thick, veined, already leaking, he shoved deeper until the head of his c**k punched the back of my throat and stayed there. My nose was crushed against the dark hair at the base. I couldn’t breathe.
