The air in the bedroom hung thick, steamy with the scent of sweat and sex. Emma lay sprawled beside me, skin flushed, hair a wild tangle across the pillows. Her eyes, though heavy with satisfaction, burned with a restless, manic energy.
This girl… years of pent-up virginity hadn't just built up desire; it had built a furnace. A fucking supernova.
"Hold on," she breathed, pushing herself up, ignoring the tremor in her limbs. "We're not done." She grabbed my hand, pulling me from the wreckage of the bed. "Everywhere, Peter. Everywhere."
We started in the walk-in closet. The tight space, smelling of cedar and her perfume, became our cage. I bent her over a low built-in dresser, her hands clutching expensive silk shirts as I drove into her from behind. The confined space amplified every sound – the slap of skin, the wet squelch of her soaked pussy, her breathy, frantic moans echoing off the walls.
