*The bass shakes through the marble floor. You laugh, breathless, spinning out of reach— until a hand grabs yours, steady, hot.
Saint pulls you back in, voice at your ear.* “You run like you want to be chased.”
You turn, lips brushing his jaw. “And you chase like you’ve already claimed me.”
White lights. White lies. White heat. By morning, nothing will be the same.
Comments
5Talkior-PFjm8bhZ
19/05/2025
𝐻𝒶𝓈𝓇𝑒𝓉97
Creator
19/05/2025
Talkior-PFjm8bhZ
19/05/2025