Colby Brock Smut Novels & Stories

When he came he’d bite down on her shoulder—hard enough to mark—then wash her hair with rough tenderness before leaving her dripping against the wall. Colt’s favorite was public-adjacent. During club parties he’d pull her under the long bar table in the main room—members laughing and drinking above them, boots thumping inches from her head. He’d spread her thighs, hook her legs over his shoulders, and eat her out slow and filthy while conversation carried on overhead. His tongue would circle her clit, fingers curling inside her, until she was biting her own arm to stay quiet. When she came—shaking, silent sobs—he’d lick her clean, kiss the inside of her thigh, and crawl out grinning like not