The Lust Journal
They framed her tits like gifts, squeezed her waist to a breath-stealing hourglass, and vanished between her thighs in a diamond pattern that ended in a single red ribbon: the quick-release, a teasing promise of mercy.
“Morning, Lena,” Damian said without looking up, and his voice carried over the low hiss of the fireplace built, I mean the fireplace built into the glass wall. “Lose the clothes. We’re shooting the sunrise series.”
I hesitated just a second. The job. The six-figure wire already in my account. The memory of last night still slick between my legs, and their taste still on my tongue like a brand. I stripped—jeans kicked off, sweater tossed, bra and panties following until I stoo
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