SINNERS: AN HOT COLLECTION
Those sounds just seeped in, no matter what I did.
Jax, my neighbor, was going at it again. The guy was a total man-slut, no sugarcoating it. Shameless as hell, bringing a new chick over almost every damn day—sometimes two or three in a single week, like he was racking up conquests on some invisible scorecard. And the worst? Our apartment walls were paper-thin, the kind that let every filthy detail spill over. I heard it all: the rhythmic thumping of his bed against the wall, the sharp slaps of skin on skin, her gasping whimpers turning into full-throated screams, and his deep, gravelly commands that made my skin prickle even from here.
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