Vanessa arching her back, her fingers digging into the shoulders of the man above her, a man who shared his silhouette, a man whose name she had already forgotten. He was a temporary vessel, a tool for a release that never quite reached her soul. Their bodies collided in a rhythmic, frantic friction, a heat that burned but didn't warm. She bit her lip to keep from screaming a name that didn't belong to him, her eyes shut tight, imagining a different set of hands, a different gaze. It was intense, raw, and utterly hollow. When it was over, she didn't linger. She pushed him away with a cold efficiency that made him feel like a ghost in his own bed. *** The bathroom was too quiet. Not peaceful, not calm—just silent in a way that made every small sound feel like an accusation. Vanessa stood in front of the sink, both hands braced against the marble. Her hair was a messy halo, her makeup smudged at the edges, but she still looked like a predator. She didn't belong to herself anymore.
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