Page 71 of Peak Cruelty

And for a second, I think maybe I will.

35

Vance

She stands.Doesn’t speak.Doesn’t wait for permission.

Walks out of the kitchen as though it’s decided.Like who needs food, when there’s this.Like I’m going to follow.

She’s right.

I kill the lights as I go.Not because it’s romantic.Because I always do.

She opens the door to the room I’ve been using.Doesn’t ask if it’s okay.Doesn’t need to.

She doesn’t hesitate.Doesn’t bother with small talk.Just pulls the shirt over her head and lets it drop.

I close the door behind me.

Thunder cracks—close enough that the window rattles.The air feels weighted, like the house knows what’s about to happen and doesn’t approve.

She’s already on the bed—on her back, one leg bent, watching me as though she’s checking for a tell.

There isn’t one.

I undress.No show.No pause.Just floor, then mattress.

The rain’s hitting harder now.Fast, straight, angry.

When I move over her, she doesn’t shift.Doesn’t guide.Just opens.Like this is what she brought me here for.

No rush.No script.

I push in and she sighs—sharp, like it’s the answer to all her problems.

Her fingers slide over my spine.Drag down.Not shallow.

Her mouth finds my throat.

Then my shoulder.

The bite makes me still.

I let her.

Then I move.

The storm keeps on.Louder now.Steady.The kind that makes a mess of everything and doesn’t apologize.

She arches.Breath caught.Hands fisting in the sheets like she’s holding on to something that isn’t there.

I give her more.

She doesn’t resist.She laughs.

That tells me everything I wasn’t ready to know.

She pulls me closer.

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