The exile beginnings were written in blood, rain, and the first cries of a child who would never know his father’s arms.
I stayed straddling Justin’s lap, his throbbing c**k buried deep inside me, the neutral sensitizer keeping every sensation raw and overwhelming. Dawn had fully broken, flooding the room with bright golden light that illuminated every tremor in his exhausted body. His thighs shook violently. Sweat rolled down his chest in heavy rivulets. His c**k pulsed helplessly inside me, leaking steadily, denied release even as I took my pleasure.
I rocked against him slowly, deliberately, grinding down in deep possessive circles while the memories of my exile washed over me like the rain that had fallen that night.
“Exile beginnings,” I whispered against his ear, clenching around
