The door shut behind me with a soft, final thud, sealing the world outside. The living room was a cocoon of shadow and heat, the dim glow from recessed LEDs and that single candle on the coffee table painting everything in molten gold and velvet black.
The invisible speakers throbbed with a slow, filthy R&B track—something with a bassline that crawled under the skin, a woman's voice moaning low and needy, the sound weaving through the air like smoke.
Vanilla and jasmine hung heavy, laced with the raw, musky edge of her arousal, a scent that hit me like a drug, flooding my lungs, tightening my cock to the point of pain.
And there she stood.
