Under The Devil's Eyes
He growls, low and satisfied, and walks me backward until my spine slams into the cold glass wall.
The city drops away beneath us, thirty stories of nothing between me and the fall.
His body cages mine: hard, scalding, unyielding.
One hand fists my hair, arching my neck.
The other slides down my side, slow, possessive, stopping at the waistband of my jeans.
“You came here to fight,” he says against my throat, teeth scraping the tendon that jumps under his tongue. “But you wore the lipstick I used to smear across your mouth while I fucked you. You wore the perfume I used to drown in when I was buried inside you.”
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