It was in the tiny twitch of her shoulder, the way her thighs pressed together under the screen, her lip sucked between her teeth like she was trying to bite back a scream and a prayer at the same time.
"You always talk like that…" she whispered, hand shaking just slightly as she tilted the phone down—enough to show skin. Chest. Bra.
The top of her thighs.
Nothing underneath.
Peter's grin sharpened.
"I talk like that because it's true," he said, voice dragging over each word like velvet over bruises. "You look like sin wrapped in velvet. Like every bad decision I'd make twice."
She whimpered. Visibly. Soft and sharp and desperate. "Peter…"
"Say it slow," he said, eyes half-lidded now. "Like you want me to make you scream it."
She giggled, cheeks flushing deeper, eyes already glassy. "God, Peter… You're so—"She broke off with a dazed little laugh, like her brain short-circuited mid-thought. Then her voice dropped—lower, breathier, soaked in need.
