Blackmail

The mattress springs groaned, a rusty, rhythmic protest that matched the heavy, wet sounds of flesh cooling in the stagnant air. Baby Kay lay sprawled across the center of the bed, her chest heaving, the sheen of sweat on her skin catching the dim light like oil on water. Her body felt used, deliciously hollowed out, the lingering ache of the double penetration still pulsing deep in her pelvis. She stared up at the ceiling, her glossy lips parted, letting the thick, musky scent of the room—sex, sweat, and shame—wash over her. Honey crawled toward her, movements fluid and practiced, like a cat seeking warmth. Her blonde hair was a tangled halo, sticking to her damp cheeks. She hovered over Baby Kay, her blue eyes glassy and unfocused, pupils blown wide with a need that …

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