Anna didn’t just smile; she bared her teeth as her fingers worked a frantic, wet rhythm between her legs. Anthony didn't move. He sat there like a statue of pure lust, his jaw tight enough to crack bone as he tracked every slide of her hand. Her thumb disappeared into her mouth, coming out slick and glistening before she dragged it over her c**t, the sound of it—a soft, tacky squelch—echoing in the quiet room.
Anthony let out a low, guttural grunt, the sound of a man losing his grip on his sanity.
"Are you going to f**k me?" she rasped. The air between them was heavy, smelling of her musk and the sharp bite of his whiskey.
"We’ll see," he choked out, though his eyes told a different story.
"I… need…"
"You need what?" He leaned forward, his voice a jagged edge.
"You. Inside me. Now."
