The Lust Journal
I gasped into Damian’s mouth; he swallowed the sound, bit my lip, tasted my surrender.
“Bed,” he growled, lifting me as if I weighed nothing, the linen cool against my heated skin, the city strobing across my body like a private show. Seraphina shed her robe, her body a sculpture of shadows and curves, climbing over me, breasts heavy, mouth on my clit before I could breathe. Damian watched, stroking himself, cock thick and heavy, already leaking. No words now—just the language of skin, of teeth, of the shutter I’d abandoned on the floor.
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