LOGINThe rain came down in sheets, turning the mountain road into a slick black ribbon. Elisa’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her heart hammering against her ribs. The text from her ex-boyfriend still burned in her mind. I’m outside your apartment. We need to talk. She had floored it, desperate to get away, to find some peace in the mountains. She never saw the deer until it was too late.The swerve was instinct. The crash was a symphony of screeching metal and shattering glass. Then, silence, thick and heavy, broken only by the hiss of the engine and the drumming rain.When she opened her eyes, the world was a blur of pain and shadows. A face swam into view, old and weathered, with eyes the color of slate. He was shouting something, but the words were muffled, as if she were underwater.Strong, calloused hands pulled at her door, prying it open with a groan of tortured metal. "Easy now," the voice said, closer this time. "Don't move. I've got you."She tried to speak, but onl
Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, her body humming with the aftershocks of two orgasms. Tyron’s thumb traced her lower lip, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip.“You think you’re done for the night, don’t you?” he asked.Michelle shook her head slowly. “I know better than that.”“Good.” His hand slid down her throat, resting at her collarbone. “Because we got business to discuss.”Something in his tone shifted. The playful cruelty in his voice turned sharper, more businesslike. She felt the change before she understood it.“Business?”Tyron stepped back, letting her legs fall. He reached into a drawer behind him, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He tossed it onto the counter beside her thigh.“Read it.”She picked it up, her fingers trembling slightly. The paper was a lease agreement, typed, official-looking. Her eyes scanned the numbers, and her heart stopped.“This says the rent is forty-five hundred a month.”“Mmhmm.”She looked u
Tyron’s hand slid down Michelle’s stomach, fingers tracing the line of her navel. His cock, half-hard, pressed against her thigh, and she felt a fresh pulse of heat between her legs.“Get up.”The command was quiet but absolute. She obeyed, her body moving before her mind caught up. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her off the bed, leading her through the apartment. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin. She was still wearing only her skirt, torn blouse hanging open.The kitchen was stark and modern, stainless steel gleaming under fluorescent light. Tyron positioned her in front of the counter, his hands gripping her hips. “Bend over.”She gripped the edge of the granite countertop, knuckles white. Her skirt hitched up as she leaned forward, exposing her bare ass to the cold air. He didn’t speak. Just stood behind her, fingers tracing the curve of her spine, down to the swell of her ass.Her breath hitched.“You’re wet,” he said, his voice low. “Been thinking about this while I had
The apartment smelled like stale cigarettes and cheaper cologne. Michelle stood in the doorway, her two suitcases heavy in her hands, the echo of her ex-husband’s final words still ringing in her ears. You get nothing. Not a fucking thing.She had nothing. Not even the first month’s rent.Tyron leaned against the kitchen counter, barefoot, wearing only gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His chest was a roadmap of muscle and ink, a serpent winding up from his waist to his shoulder. His eyes, dark and lazy, traveled the length of her body.“You’re the new tenant,” he said. Not a question.“Michelle.” Her voice came out smaller than she wanted.“I know your situation.” He pushed off the counter, walking toward her. Each step was deliberate, predatory. “Divorced. Broke. Nowhere to go.”She swallowed hard. “I can pay. I just need a week or two to—”“No you can’t.” He stopped inches from her, close enough that she could smell the musk of his skin, the faint trace of weed. “I checked
“Stay,” he whispered. “Five minutes. Then the guest room.”She nodded. He squeezed past her, cracked the door. A sliver of hallway light split the dark. He looked back. She saw the glint of his eyes. The set of his jaw.Then he was gone.The door clicked shut.Apple stood in the dark. Mothballs. Wool. The smell of him on her hands. Her thighs sticky with his come and hers. She pressed her palm flat to her stomach, felt the warmth of it still.She counted to thirty before she let herself breathe.The hallway light clicked off. Darkness swallowed everything.Apple counted to thirty. Then sixty. Her fingers found the closet door handle. Cold brass. She turned it slow, wincing at the click. The hallway stretched empty, carpet muffling her bare feet. She carried her clothes crushed against her chest like evidence.The guest room door was cracked open. A sliver of gray light. She slipped inside.Louie sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He looked up when she entered. His eyes tra
The car door slammed. Heavy. Final.Louie was on his feet before Apple could blink, cock still slick, softening against his thigh. He grabbed her wrist—not gentle—and hauled her upright. Her feet skidded on the rug.“Closet,” he hissed. “Now.”“What about my—”He scooped her clothes off the floor with one desperate arm, shoved the bundle into her chest, and pushed her toward the hall. The living room looked like a crime scene. Wine glasses. The overturned bottle. The chair angled wrong. The smell of sex hanging in the air like smoke.The front door rattled. Keys jangling.Apple stumbled into the hall closet. Dark. Cramped. The smell of mothballs and Louie’s old coats. He squeezed in behind her, pulling the door shut just as the lock clicked open.Gerlyn’s heels tapped across the foyer. Click. Click. Click. Then stopped.“Louie? You awake?”Silence. Apple felt his body go rigid against her back. His hand clamped over her mouth. She could taste his palm—salt and her own cunt.“Power’s b
SofiaThe rain was a fucking drum solo on the roof, and the power had been out for an hour. Total blackness, except for the occasional flare of lightning that lit up Annie’s terrified, nerdy face across the living room floor. My mom and her new husband were probably fucking in some tropical resort,
CalvinThe hotel suite was too quiet. That was the first thing I noticed. Usually, with the cougars, there was music, chatter, the clink of ice in a glass. This silence was thick, broken only by the hum of the AC. Mrs. Alistair stood by the window, her back to me, the silhouette of her designer dre
Sister Mariahe cold stone floor of my cell is a constant reminder. The rough wool of my habit scratches my skin, a perpetual penance for a sin I haven't even committed yet. Not officially. My parents’ dream, this life of silent devotion, is my beautiful, gilded cage. I see my sisters, Mary and Mar
OfeliaThe siren was still a faint echo in my ears, a stupid, blinking red and blue ghost in my foggy vision. My head pounded, a cheap vodka drum solo against my skull. God, what a fucking night. I’d swerved, sure. Maybe clipped a mailbox. Or a curb. Or whatever. It wasn’t a big deal. It never was.







