Chapter 2: Breaking Boundaries
The sharp crack of his palm against her ass echoed in the quiet room, a startling punctuation to the wet, sucking sounds from Tia’s mouth. Anna gasped, the sting radiating through her cheek, a bright, hot bloom of sensation that cut through her daze. The sound she made wasn’t one of pain. It was a low, surprised moan that seemed to come from somewhere deep and forgotten.
She froze, her fingers still tangled in Tia’s soft hair, holding the makeshift ponytail. Her face burned with a shame that felt hotter than the slap.
“There it is,” Mark said, his voice a dark chuckle. He wasn’t looking at Tia’s busy mouth anymore. He was watching Anna’s face in the dim light, studying the shock and the unwanted thrill that followed it. His cock slid from Tia’s lips with a wet pop.
Tia turned her head, her cheek resting against Mark’s thigh. She smiled up at Anna, her eyes glazed but knowing. “See? It feels good. He knows what he’s doing.”
“Finish tying her hair,” Mark said, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. “I want to see her throat work.”
Anna’s hands trembled as she gathered the strands, securing them with the band she’d had on her own wrist. She focused on the task, on the silky feel of Tia’s hair, anything to avoid the overwhelming reality: the throbbing in her ass, the damp heat between her own legs, the massive, glistening cock inches from her face.
With Tia’s hair pulled back, the act became even more obscenely clear. Anna could see the strain in Tia’s neck muscles, the way her lips stretched taut around the thick shaft, the hollowing of her cheeks as she sucked. Tia dove back down, taking him deep, her nose buried in the dark curls at his base. A low, rough groan rumbled from Mark’s chest.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand stroking Tia’s head. But his eyes were still locked on Anna. “Now you. Come here. Closer.”
Anna hesitated for a heartbeat before obeying, shifting on her knees until she was beside Tia, facing Mark, his erect penis a brutal, living sculpture between them. The musk of him, of sex and sweat, filled her nostrils.
“Look at it,” he commanded. “Really look. It’s the first one you’ve ever seen besides John’s, right?”
She nodded, unable to speak. It was so much… more. Thicker, longer, a network of prominent veins tracing its length. The head was a broad, flushed purple dome, beaded with a drop of clear fluid that Tia’s tongue lapped away.
“Tell me what you see,” he said.
“I… it’s big,” she whispered.
“Big,” he repeated, unimpressed. “That’s a child’s word. It’s a fucking cock, Anna. A hard, grown man’s cock. Your best friend is sucking it. And you’re kneeling right next to her, watching. Your boyfriend’s friend. Does that make you a bad girlfriend?”
The question was a knife twist. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. It does. It makes you a filthy, curious little voyeur. And your pussy is dripping because of it. I can smell it.”
Anna flinched. She wanted to deny it, but the evidence was a slick, aching pressure inside her. She was wet, terribly wet, and the confession in his words only made it worse.
Tia pulled off, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his shaft. “She is, Mark. She’s so wet. I can feel her heat from here.”
“Show me,” Mark said to Anna.
Her breath hitched. “What?”
“You heard me. Show me how wet you are. Put your fingers in that untouched, ‘okay’ pussy and show me what my little show has done to you.”
Anna’s mind screamed no. This was the line, the final, irrevocable step from watching to participating. But her body was moving before the protest could form. Her hand, as if detached from her will, slid under the hem of her dress, which was still rucked up around her hips. She found her own flesh, swollen and slick. She pushed two fingers inside herself, a soft, wet gasp escaping her lips at the penetration. It felt different. She was so aroused it was almost painful.
She pulled her fingers out, shiny and coated. She held them up, trembling in the lamplight.
Mark leaned forward, his gaze intense. He didn’t touch her. He just looked. “Bring them here.”
Slowly, Anna raised her hand toward his face. He caught her wrist, his grip firm. He didn’t bring her fingers to his mouth. Instead, he guided them to Tia’s lips.
“Taste her,” he told Tia.
Without hesitation, Tia closed her mouth over Anna’s fingers, sucking them clean, her tongue swirling between them. She moaned, a sound of genuine pleasure, her eyes closing. “She tastes so sweet, baby.”
A bolt of pure, illicit lightning shot through Anna. The intimacy of it, the shared degradation, was overwhelming. She watched, hypnotized, as Tia worshiped her own arousal from her fingers.
Mark released her wrist. “Now you. Taste her.”
He nudged Tia’s shoulder. Tia turned to Anna, her lips parted, her breath warm. She leaned in and kissed Anna, deep and open-mouthed. Anna tasted herself on Tia’s tongue—a musky, tangy flavor that was foreign and deeply erotic. She kissed back, a small, broken sound caught in her throat. Tia’s hands came up to cradle her face, holding her in the kiss.
Mark watched, his hand slowly stroking his cock. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he breathed. “Two good little friends sharing.”
The kiss broke. Tia rested her forehead against Anna’s, their breaths mingling. “It’s okay,” Tia whispered, just for Anna. “It’s just feeling. Let it feel good.”
“On the bed,” Mark said, standing up. His shadow fell over them. “Both of you. On your backs. Head to foot.”
They moved like sleepwalkers. The silk sheets were cool against Anna’s feverish skin as she lay down, her head near the footboard. Tia lay opposite, her head on the pillows, so their bodies formed a straight, parallel line. Anna stared at the ceiling, her heart hammering against her ribs. She heard the flick of a lighter, then smelled the warm scent of candle wax as Mark lit a few on the bedside table. The room danced with soft, shifting light.
He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between them. He looked down at their bodies, at Tia’s familiar, marked form and Anna’s trembling, virginal-by-comparison one. He ran a hand up Anna’s inner thigh, pushing her dress up to her waist. She jumped at his touch.
“So nervous,” he mused. “All that tight, untouched energy.” His fingers brushed through her neat curls, then dipped lower, tracing her outer lips. “But so fucking wet. Drenched.” He pushed a single, thick finger inside her.
Anna cried out, her back arching off the bed. It was an invasion, blunt and profound. He worked his finger in and out, a slow, cruel mimicry of sex. “Tighter than I thought,” he grunted. “John doesn’t stretch you out much, does he?”
He added a second finger, stretching her, the burn exquisite. Anna bit her lip, tears pricking her eyes from the intensity. She’d never been fingered like this, with such deliberate, assessing force.
“Watch me fuck her,” he said to Tia, though his eyes were on Anna’s face, watching every flicker of pain and pleasure. He fingered Anna harder, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing rough, tight circles.
Anna’s hips bucked uncontrollably. A coil of pure, white-hot tension was winding tight in her belly. “Oh, god…”
“That’s it,” Mark coaxed, his voice a low rumble. “Come for me. Come while your best friend watches. Show her what a real touch can do.”
The command, the public nature of it, the ruthless skill of his fingers—it was too much. The coil snapped. A climax tore through her, violent and shocking in its power. She screamed, a raw, ragged sound, her body convulsing around his invading fingers. Lights exploded behind her eyelids. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced—deeper, louder, utterly consuming.
As the waves subsided, leaving her shuddering and spent, Mark pulled his fingers from her. They shone with her release. He held them up for Tia to see, then brought them to his own mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum.
“Not so disgusting, is it?” he said to Anna.
Before she could process the meaning, he moved. In one fluid motion, he positioned himself over Tia, guiding his cock to her entrance. He drove into her in one deep, powerful thrust, making her gasp. He began to fuck her with a steady, relentless rhythm, the bed rocking.
But he was looking at Anna.
His gaze held hers prisoner as he moved in and out of Tia. Each thrust was a claim, a demonstration. This is what I do. This is what she can take. This is what you’re missing.
Tia’s moans filled the room, a steady soundtrack to the visual feast. Anna watched, hypnotized, her own body still humming from the earthquake he’d unleashed inside her. She watched the way Tia’s body accepted him, the way her back arched, the way her hands clutched at the sheets. She saw the raw, physical truth of sex without barriers, without condoms, without reservations.
Mark’s pace increased, becoming harder, faster. The slap of skin grew louder, more urgent. Tia’s cries pitched higher.
“I’m gonna come, Mark! Fuck, I’m gonna come again!”
“Do it,” he growled, his control fraying. His hips pistoned. “Squeeze my cock. Milk it.”
Tia’s body went rigid, a silent scream on her lips as another climax seized her. That was all it took. Mark pulled out of her, his cock springing free, pulsing violently.
He didn’t aim for Tia this time.
In two quick strides, he was standing over Anna, at the foot of the bed. She barely had time to open her eyes wide before he fisted himself and let go.
The first hot, thick jet hit her lower belly, a startling splash of heat. The next landed on her pubic bone, another streaked across her inner thigh. He groaned, shifting his aim, and the following pulses painted her breasts, white stripes over her pale skin and pink nipples. The final drops spattered on her collarbone.
Anna lay utterly still, paralyzed. The warmth was immediate, then quickly began to cool. The smell, salty and primal, filled her nose. She expected revulsion, nausea. It was what she’d always believed she’d feel.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, a strange, terrifying curiosity bloomed. Her eyes met Mark’s. He was breathing heavily, watching her, waiting for her reaction.
Slowly, shakily, Anna lifted a hand from where it lay at her side. She touched the pool of cum on her stomach. It was slick, slightly sticky. She brought her fingertips to her face, staring at the white fluid. Her heart was a wild drum in her chest.
Holding Mark’s dark, expectant gaze, she brought her fingers to her lips.
And she tasted it.
The flavor was complex—salty, slightly bitter, musky. It was the taste of him, of the entire night, of her own shattered boundaries. She didn’t gag. She let her tongue clean her fingers, her eyes never leaving his.
A slow, triumphant smile spread across Mark’s face. Behind him, Tia propped herself up on her elbows, a look of awe and delight on her cum-spattered face.
“Well,” Mark said, his voice hoarse with spent passion and satisfaction. “There goes that theory.”
The taste still lingered on her tongue, a foreign salt that seemed to seep into her very nerves. Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing. Anna lowered her hand, her mind a static void where all her old rules used to live.
“Come here,” Mark said, his voice softer now, but no less commanding.
He didn’t specify which of them he meant. They both moved, drawn by the gravity of him. Tia crawled up from the pillows and Anna shifted from the foot, meeting in the middle of the rumpled, stained silk. Mark lay back, pulling them against him, one on each side. Their skin was damp, cooling. Anna stiffened at the full-length contact, the feel of his solid, hairy thigh thrown over hers, Tia’s soft breast pressed against her arm.
“Just sleep,” he murmured into Tia’s hair, his hand already drifting to rest possessively on Anna’s hip.
Sleep was impossible. Anna lay rigid, staring into the dark, acutely aware of every point of contact. The scent of sex and sweat and him was embedded in the sheets, in the air, in her skin. Her body hummed with a traitorous, exhausted arousal, her pussy still throbbing faintly from the brutal way he’d made her come. She felt Tia’s breathing deepen into sleep, felt Mark’s body grow heavy and still. The heat between them became a sweaty, tangled cocoon.
She was horny, wet, but still reserved about doing something with Mark. The line had been crossed, but it felt like a singularity—a single, explosive event that couldn’t be replicated. To actively participate now, in the cold clarity of night, would be a choice. She wasn’t sure she could make it. Eventually, a fractured, shallow sleep took her, filled with dreams of watching eyes and the sound of skin slapping skin.
Dawn light, grey and thin, filtered through the blinds. Anna swam up from sleep, disoriented by the warmth and weight around her. Then she felt the movement. The bed was rocking, a slow, deliberate rhythm. A low, muffled moan vibrated against her back.
She opened her eyes.
Tia was on all fours beside her, head down, ass high. Mark knelt behind her, his powerful frame driving into her with deep, steady thrusts. Tia’s hair was a messy curtain hiding her face, but her choked, pleasured sounds were unmistakable. They were fucking right next to her, the sheets whispering with their movement, the musky scent of morning sex already rising.
Anna froze, pretending sleep, but her breath hitched. Mark saw it. His rhythm didn’t falter.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep and lust. He pulled almost all the way out of Tia, making her whimper. “Sit up, Anna. On your knees.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She hesitated, the reservation a cold stone in her gut. But her body, warm from sleep and humming with the visual stimulus, betrayed her. She pushed herself up, the sheet falling away from her naked breasts.
“Not like that,” he said, giving Tia a sharp, deep pump that made her cry out. “On all fours. Like her. I want to see that pretty, shy pussy from behind. The one that’s only ever known ‘okay’ John.”
The command, the comparison, ignited a flash of something—shame, yes, but beneath it, a defiant curiosity. Anna obeyed. She moved slowly, getting onto her hands and knees, mirroring Tia’s position a few feet away on the large bed. The cool air kissed her exposed sex. She felt horrifyingly open, her most intimate parts displayed for his appraisal.
“Fuck, yes,” Mark breathed, his eyes raking over her. He resumed fucking Tia, but his attention was split. “Look at that. Pink and perfect and dripping already, just from watching. You see this, Tia? Look at your best friend’s cunt. It’s begging for it.”
Tia turned her head, her cheek against the sheet. Her eyes were glazed, her lips swollen. “It’s so pretty, Mark. So clean. You should taste it.”
“I will,” he promised, his thrusts into Tia becoming harder, faster. “I’m gonna taste that innocent little fuck-hole and then I’m gonna ruin it. But first…”
He gripped Tia’s hips, slamming into her with a final, brutal intensity. He fucked her through his climax, his growl animalistic in the quiet room. When he pulled out, he was already semi-hard, glistening with her and himself. He didn’t pause. He moved on the bed, the mattress dipping.
Anna felt his heat behind her before she felt his touch. She jumped when his hands landed on her hips, big and overwhelmingly warm. He squeezed the flesh there, then slid one hand around, his fingers delving through her folds without ceremony.
“Soaking,” he grunted, painting the word with pure satisfaction. He brought his wet fingers to her mouth. “Suck.”
She did, her eyes closing as she tasted their mixed arousal, a far more potent cocktail than his alone had been. It was filthy. It was undeniable.
“Now,” he said, shifting closer. “Stay just like that.”
She felt the broad, blunt head of his cock nudge against her entrance. It was still slick from Tia, from his own come. This was it. The reservation screamed, a final, fading alarm. This was her boyfriend’s friend. This was a man who fucked without condoms. This was betrayal.
He pushed.
The stretch was immediate, breathtaking. He was so much thicker than John. A sharp, burning ache made her gasp, her fingers clutching the sheets.
“Relax,” he commanded, not unkindly, but with the tone of a man used to being obeyed. He pushed another inch, filling her with an inexorable pressure. “Breathe out. Let me in.”
Anna exhaled a shuddering breath, and her body yielded slightly. He sank deeper, a low groan rumbling from his chest. “Jesus Christ. That tight little virgin cunt. It’s fucking strangling me.”
He was fully seated now, a feeling of profound, impossible fullness. He didn’t move for a long moment, letting her adjust, letting her feel every inch of him buried inside her. She felt split open, claimed in a way she never had been. Tia watched from beside them, her hand moving between her own legs, her eyes wide.
Then he pulled back and thrust. Hard.
Anna cried out, the sound ripped from her throat. It wasn’t pain, not anymore. It was a shocking, electrifying fullness being stroked. He set a relentless pace, each drive punching a moan from her lungs. The slap of his balls against her wet flesh was a lewd, rhythmic counterpoint.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “You feel how deep I am? John ever get this deep? Ever make you feel this fucking full?”
“No,” she sobbed, the word lost in the pillow. “Never.”
“Whose cock is in your pussy right now?”
She couldn’t answer. He hammered into her, hitting a spot that made her vision blur.
“Say it!” he demanded, delivering a sharp smack to her ass.
“Yours!” she screamed. “Your cock! Mark’s cock!”
“Damn right.” He leaned over her, his chest hot against her back, his mouth at her ear. His pace became savage, punishing. “And I’m gonna fill this untouched pussy with my come. I’m gonna pump you so full it leaks out of you for days. And you’re gonna remember who put it there.”
The promise, the sheer biological filth of it, pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm detonated, a silent, screaming convulsion that clamped down on his invading length. He fucked her through it, his own control shattering.
With a final, deep plunge, he held himself inside her and came. She felt it, a hot, pulsing flood deep in her core, a sensation so alien and profound it triggered another, smaller shockwave through her system. He groaned, long and low, grinding against her as he emptied himself.
When he finally pulled out, a trickle of warm fluid immediately escaped down her inner thigh. He saw it. So did Tia.
“Look at that,” Mark said, his breathing heavy. He traced the white trickle with his finger, pushing it back inside her. “Not so disgusting now, is it?”
Anna collapsed onto her stomach, her body trembling violently. She was ruined, full, and utterly confused. The reservation was gone, burned away in the raw act. All that was left was the feeling, and the terrifying, thrilling question of what happened next.
All that was left was the feeling, and the terrifying, thrilling question of what happened next. The three of them lay in a tangled, sweaty heap until the sun rose higher, bleaching the room with a pale, unforgiving light. No one spoke.
The silence was a physical weight. Anna finally stirred, her muscles protesting as she extracted herself from under Mark’s heavy arm. The air felt cold on her skin where his cum had dried in tacky streaks on her stomach and breasts. She stood on shaky legs, avoiding the sight of the two other bodies in the bed. The evidence of the night—the smell, the stains, the profound ache between her legs—felt like a brand.
“I should go,” she whispered, her voice raw.
Tia propped herself up on an elbow, her expression soft with a strange, satiated concern. “Stay for breakfast? We could just… talk.”
Anna shook her head, already gathering her crumpled dress from the floor. She couldn’t talk. If she opened her mouth, she might scream, or worse, she might ask for it to happen again. “John will be wondering where I am.”
Mark didn’t open his eyes. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. He said nothing.
Dressing felt like putting on a costume. The simple red cotton dress was a lie. She felt the dried, flaking residue on her skin underneath it as she pulled the fabric down. She found her thong near the bedroom door, stepped into it, the delicate lace a cruel joke against her sore flesh. Her purse was in the living room, next to the empty whiskey glasses.
She left without another word, closing the apartment door softly behind her. The hallway was sterile and quiet. She walked down the stairs, each step echoing her thudding heart.
The weekend passed in a blur of shallow normalcy. She showered three times on Saturday, scrubbing until her skin was pink, but the sensation of fullness, of invasion, lingered. John came over, sweet and predictable. He kissed her, and she flinched. He touched her, and her mind superimposed a different, harder touch. She made an excuse about a migraine, and they watched a movie. She felt his cum inside her, a ghost feeling, every time he shifted on the couch.
She checked her phone obsessively. Nothing from Tia. Nothing from him. The silence was worse than any message. It left the entire event floating in a void, disconnected from reality, a fever dream that had somehow rewired her nervous system. She caught herself staring into space, her fingertips absently tracing her lower lip, remembering the taste.
Sunday night, she realized her phone was missing. She tore her apartment apart. It wasn’t there. A cold dread settled in her stomach. She remembered leaving it on the coffee table, next to the glasses. She hadn’t picked it up.
Monday morning arrived with the shrill beep of John’s alarm. The mundane ritual of preparing for work felt like moving through deep water. John hummed in the shower. Anna stood at the bathroom mirror, applying her makeup with meticulous care. The foundation covered the faint shadows under her eyes. The lipstick was a shield. She chose a conservative knee-length skirt and a blouse.
She was buttoning her cuffs when the doorbell rang at seven sharp.
“Who the hell is that?” John called from the bedroom, pulling a t-shirt over his head.
“No idea,” Anna said, her voice strangely calm. A stone of certainty had dropped into her gut.
She walked to the door and opened it.
Mark stood on the welcome mat. He wore dark jeans and a tight black t-shirt that stretched across his chest. He looked freshly showered, composed. He held up a shallow cardboard box. “Hey, Anna. Sorry for the hour. Is John in?”
His eyes weren’t sorry. They scanned her, from her styled hair to her prim blouse, stripping it all away in an instant. They held the memory of her on her knees, her back arched, her mouth full.
“Yeah. Come in.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own.
John emerged, smiling. “Mark! What’s up, man?”
“I’m in a bind,” Mark said, his tone easy, friendly. He set the box on the kitchen counter. It contained a new ceiling fan fixture. “Promised the client I’d install this today. My cordless drill is dead, battery’s fried. Any chance I can borrow yours? And maybe the step-ladder?”
“Of course, no problem.” John clapped him on the shoulder. “They’re in the garage. Come on, I’ll grab them for you.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Mark said, his gaze flicking back to Anna for a heartbeat.
The two men walked through the kitchen toward the door leading to the attached garage. John pulled it open. “It’s a bit of a mess, let me find it.”
“Appreciate it,” Mark said, waiting just inside the kitchen.
The moment John disappeared into the garage, the click of the door closing behind him, the air in the kitchen snapped taut. Mark didn’t move. He just looked at her.
Anna stood frozen by the counter, her hands gripping the edge.
Slowly, deliberately, Mark reached for the fly of his jeans. He unbuttoned them, drew down the zipper. The sound was obscenely loud in the silent kitchen. He pushed his briefs aside. His cock, half-erect and already impressively thick, sprung free.
He said nothing. He simply looked at her, a question in his raised eyebrows, a command in his stillness.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trying to escape. She could hear John moving boxes in the garage, just a dozen feet away through a thin door. The smell of last night’s pasta sauce still hung in the air. Her makeup was perfect.
Without a word, her body moved before her mind could form a protest. She crossed the two steps of linoleum floor and sank to her knees. The cool tile bit through her stockings. She took him into her mouth.
He was already hardening fully against her tongue, growing thicker, longer. The taste of him, familiar and musky now, flooded her senses. She worked him with a desperate, practiced rhythm she didn’t know she possessed, her head bobbing, her lips stretching. Her mind fractured. One part screamed in panic, listening for John’s returning footsteps. The other part was all sensation: the velvet-soft skin over iron hardness, the weight on her tongue, the low groan vibrating from his chest.
She pulled off, gasping for a quiet breath. “Tell me,” she whispered, her voice strained. “Tell me when you’re gonna come. My makeup. I just did my makeup.”
Mark looked down at her, his expression unreadable. He tangled a hand in her carefully styled hair, forcing her back onto him. He fucked her mouth with shallow, controlled thrusts. “I’ll tell you,” he murmured. “But you’re swallowing it. Every drop.”
The garage doorknob rattled.
Anna’s eyes flew wide with panic. Mark pulled out of her mouth with a wet sound and in one fluid, brutal motion, he yanked her up by her arm. He spun her, bending her over the kitchen counter. Her cheek pressed against the cold laminate. He shoved her skirt up around her waist, ripped her stockings and panties down in one hard pull, the elastic snapping against her thighs.
She heard the garage door open.
“Found it!” John called out, his voice muffled by the shelves.
Mark drove into her from behind.
The penetration was sudden, deep, and utterly silent. Anna’s mouth opened in a soundless scream. He was thicker than John, thicker than memory. He filled her completely, a brutal, stretching fullness that stole her breath. He didn’t pause. He set a ruthless, pounding rhythm, his hips slamming against the backs of her thighs.
John’s footsteps approached, the heavy tread of work boots on concrete just beyond the open doorway.
Mark leaned over her, his chest pressed against her back, his mouth at her ear. His thrusts were short, deep, and viciously efficient. “You feel that?” he breathed, his voice a barely audible whisper. “Your boyfriend is ten feet away. And my cock is buried in his girlfriend’s married pussy.”
Tears of shame and unbearable arousal sprang to Anna’s eyes. She clutched the edge of the counter, her knuckles white. Each impact jarred her teeth. She was soaking wet, her body betraying her utterly, clenching around the invasion. The risk was an insane, potent aphrodisiac.
“Got the ladder too,” John called, closer now. He was just inside the garage threshold.
Mark’s pace intensified. Anna bit her own arm to stifle a moan. The rough fabric of his jeans scraped against her bare ass. She could see their reflection, distorted, in the stainless steel front of the dishwasher: his powerful body hunched over hers, her skirt a bundled mess at her waist, her face contorted.
“Thanks, man, you’re a lifesaver,” Mark said, his voice raised to a normal, cheerful level. It didn’t hitch, didn’t waver. His hips kept pistoning.
“No worries. Need a hand with it?” John asked. He was in the doorway now. Anna stopped breathing.
“Nah, I’m good. Got it from here.” Mark’s voice was calm, conversational, as he ruthlessly fucked her over her own kitchen counter.
“Alright. Catch you later.” John’s footsteps receded. The garage door clicked shut.
The moment the latch engaged, Mark’s composure shattered. A guttural snarl tore from his throat. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back. “Now,” he grunted, his rhythm fracturing into desperate, hard slams. “Now you take it. Take my fucking come.”