C117 Fuck First, Talk Later.

The breakfast was forgotten—untouched plates, burnt-out candles, and only him in my mind—his masculine, naked body, the way he had just ruined me. And yet, he wasn’t done.

Dontrell didn’t waste time. One moment, his lips crashed into mine; the next, I was on the kitchen counter, legs spread as he stepped between them.

"You’re shaking," he smirked, fingers tightening on my waist