Page 75 of Veil of Smoke

“Come for me,” he growls, voice thick with need.

I do. My pussy clenches around his fingers, soaking them as I cry out, sharp and raw. He keeps going, drawing it out until I’m shaking, breathless.

I pull his hand free. Bring it to my mouth. Lick his fingers clean, tasting myself, and he groans again.

“My turn,” I say, sliding back down.

I straddle his hips again. Line him up with my pussy, but don’t sink down yet. I tease him, rubbing his cock against me, slick and slow.

“Viviana,” he pleads. “Fuck me.”

“Beg,” I say, circling my hips, letting the tip brush my entrance.

“Please,” he rasps. “I need you. Fuck me. Now.”

I give in. Sink onto him, slow at first, feeling him stretch me wide. He’s thick, hot, and I take him inch by inch, savoring every groan he makes.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so tight.”

“Yeah?” I say, rolling my hips. “Tell me.”

“So wet,” he grunts. “So fucking perfect.”

I ride him, hard and steady, thighs burning as I set the pace. His hands grip the chair, knuckles white, fighting to obey me.

“Look at you,” I say, voice low. “All mine.”

“Yours,” he chokes out. “Fuck, I’m yours.”

I lean forward. Press my chest to his, skin sticking with sweat. I grind deeper, slower, dragging it out.

“Feel that?” I whisper against his neck. “That’s me owning you.”

“Fuck, yes,” he moans. “Take it. Take me.”

I do. I ride him faster, hips slamming down, the chair creaking loud beneath us. His breath staggers, hips lifting to meet me, and I feel him tense, so close.

“Come for me,” I say, voice sharp. “Now.”

He does. His cock pulses inside me, spilling hot and deep, a rough shout tearing from his throat. I keep moving, drawing it out, then tip over my own edge, shuddering hard, nails digging into his chest.

We collapse. Breathless. Wrecked.

I lean back. He blinks up at me, eyes wide, dazed.

He looks ruined. Beautifully so.

I feel unstoppable.

My fingers trace his cheek, the rough scruff, the split on his lip from days ago. He doesn’t flinch. Just lets me touch.

The jazz den hums beyond the curtains—muted brass, soft drums, a low pulse threading through the room.

I break the quiet. “I’m not scared of you anymore.”

His chest rumbles. “Good. I need you dangerous.”

I tilt my head. Meet his gaze. His eyes are unguarded tonight. I see everything—the scars of his past, the uncertainty ahead, and me, carved right into the middle.

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