Tabooheat
Cory Chase, Jonathan Jordan Pic(s)
The air in the room was thick with the scent of sweat and illicit perfume, a heady mixture that clung to her skin as she moved with a rhythm not her own. Her wedding band felt cold and foreign agat the heated flesh of her back, a stark reminder of the life she was momentarily forgetting. Every nerve ending was alight, singing a desperate hymn as his powerful hands mapped the delicate curve of her spine, claiming territory that belonged to another. A low, guttural moan escaped her lips, lost in the deep, resonant timbre of his voice whispering promises agat her neck. The world outside the dimly lit room ceased to exist, replaced by the overwhelming reality of his presence, a force of nature she willingly surrendered to. Her fingers tangled in the coarse, dark hair of his chest, a thrilling contrast to the familiar smoothness she knew at home. Each thrust was a punctuation mark in a story of betrayal, a delicious, shameful pleasure that coiled tight in her belly. The slide of their bodies was a slick, primal dance, a symphony of flesh meeting flesh with a wet, rhythmic slap that echoed her pounding heart. In that moment, she was not a wife, but simply a woman consumed by a raw, aching need that only this stranger’s profound strength could sate.
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