Chapter 7: The Lingerie Reveal
The warmth inside her cooled, becoming a clammy, intrusive reminder. Braxton stayed there for a long moment, his softening cock still nestled in the ruin he’d made of her, his heavy breaths ruffling the hair on the back of her neck. Finally, he pulled out. The sound was wet, loose, final.
She collapsed forward onto the carpet, her cheek against the now-damp shirt. She didn’t move. Her body was a foreign country, its geography unrecognizable—a map of burns, aches, and deep, violating fullness.
She heard him moving around the room. The clink of his belt buckle. The heavy sigh as he sat on the edge of the bed. The flick of a lighter, then the acrid smell of cigarette smoke cutting through the room’s heavier odors.
“You’re a hell of a piece of work, lady,” he said, his voice gravelly with spent effort. “A regular goddamn revelation.”
Molly closed her eyes. The words she’d screamed echoed in the hollow vault of her skull. Daddy. Breed my slutty ass. They felt like someone else’s confession, torn from her throat by a separate, monstrous self. A hot flush of shame, so much more acute than any physical pain, crawled up her chest and neck.