The sound of R&B drifted softly through the apartment, mixing with the fresh scent of nail polish. She sat cross-legged on the couch, painting her toes in deep red—slow, seductive strokes. She liked doing it while she waited for him. It was her way of preparing for the fire she knew he’d bring.
Just as she blew on her final toe, there was a knock on the door. Three gentle taps—his signature.
A smirk crept across her lips.
She didn’t ask who it was. She already knew.
She peeked through the door lens just for the thrill, then opened it.
There he stood—Michael. Clean cut. Dark shirt. Eyes already hungry.
“Look at you,” she whispered, pulling him in.
Their bodies crashed like magnets. Before the door could even click shut, his hands were under her gown, parting her thighs with urgent precision. Two fingers slid into her like they belonged there.
“Mmm,” she moaned, arching into him.
He withdrew his fingers slowly—deliberately—then looked her dead in the eye as he licked them clean.
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