Bittersweet

She still sees it when she closes her eyes. Christian lounging in the armchair that cost more than her rent. The room smelled like cedar and money. She’d been dusting the shelves when he came up behind her, his hand sliding low without a word. No hurry. Just heat, spreading where he touched. Her skirt slid up. His fingers found her first, working her open slow, the way he liked. When she bent over the desk he followed, mouth on her ass, tongue working deeper each time she moaned. He pressed a finger inside, then another, stretching her while her breath caught on the edge of the polished wood. She turned for him. Sucked him slow, tasting herself on his skin, letting him fuck her mouth until her throat relaxed. Balls heavy on her tongue when she dipped lower. He pulled her up, sat her on the edge of the desk, and slid back in, this time taking her ass—steady, deep, the stretch burning sweet. When he came, she took him again with her mouth, cleaning him off, salt and sweat and everything that used to mean he still owned the world. The house was already slipping through his fingers. She just didn’t know it yet.