In the cramped sanctuary of the storage room, the air grew thick with the heavy scent of raw adrenaline and the musk of a sudden, feverish encounter. Outside the heavy canvas curtain, the tavern was a cacophony of clinking beer mugs, raucous laughter, and the sizzle of fat on the grill. The world of neon lights and wine roared on, oblivious to the fact that just a few feet away, I was conducting a private masterclass in primal release.
Lucy was no longer the defiant girl from the countryside; she had become a creature of pure sensation, her pale body coiling beneath me like a serpent in the dim, amber light. I pushed aside every lingering thought of Emma Hopkins and the years of being a humiliated stay at home husband. In this moment, I was the one in control. I poured all my pent-up frus
