Chapter 691 Room For More?(Interace-fuck):>Ep10

• The apartment held the kind of hush that wasn't just quiet, but charged -- the low, dense silence of a late morning that knew too much had happened the night before. Sunlight slipped through half-drawn curtains, softening the edges of sleek furniture and polished surfaces, but even that light seemed subdued, like it was tiptoeing across the hardwood. Shannon stood barefoot at the kitchen island, wrapped in one of Craig's old T-shirts -- the fabric thin and worn to transparency in places, brushing the tops of her thighs, slipping wide across one shoulder like it had forgotten what it meant to fit. Her hair was half-wound, half-wild, a soft mess of curls that had loosened through the night, undone by sleep and sweat and something else entirely. Her hand curled around a coffee mug, but she wasn't drinking -- just holding it, letting the heat seep into her palm, her eyes fixed somewhere past the window, somewhere beyond what she was willing to name. There was a hum in her still, low and constant, in places her breath hadn't reached since before sunrise. It wasn't arousal, not exactly. It was afterglow, yes -- but not her own.
• Across from her, Craig leaned against the counter with his own mug, the air between them as quiet as it was crowded. Neither had said much since waking. No lazy banter. No soft kisses or murmured plans. Just the mechanical ritual of espresso grinding and toast popping, the choreography of avoidance performed with silent precision. But they both felt it -- the hangover of sound, of something primal that had passed through their walls like heat through plaster. Not sex, not as they knew it. What they'd heard last night had been beyond category. It had been devastation in rhythm -- the kind of fucking that didn't ask for consent, only surrender. Skin slapping with brutal consistency, as if the tempo had been chosen by instinct, not intention. And the woman -- God, the woman -- her voice hadn't cried out so much as collapsed. Sobbed, pleaded, shattered, until her moans stopped sounding like pleasure and started sounding like release.
• Craig had tried to keep his focus on Shannon. Tried to lose himself in the familiar stretch of her thighs, the warmth of her cunt wrapped around him like home. But even as he pushed into her, even as she arched and clung and cried out, something in him knew -- the tremble in her breath, the sudden tightness of her grip, the way she took him -- none of it was about him. Not entirely. There was something else in her body last night. Something she couldn't name. Something she didn't fight.