A measured, relentless cadence. Heavy. Grounded. The unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin--not the frantic slap of casual sex, but something slower. Hungrier. A rhythm that spoke of pressure and surrender, of someone being taken apart piece by piece.

Then a voice -- feminine, breathless, wrecked. "Oh my *God--*yes--yes--please--"

Shannon's breath caught. Not from embarrassment. Not quite from arousal, either. But something bloomed beneath her ribs. A tension. A flicker of something unnamed.

Craig kissed her neck, trying to pull her focus back. His cock, hard and hot, pressed insistently against her thigh. She shifted, guiding him in with a practiced ease. That first stretch still made her catch her...