Chapter 536: Her Apartment (R-18) The door to her apartment exploded open under our combined weight, hinges groaning like they knew what was coming. We stormed through like a hurricane made of raw need—bodies slamming together, mouths devouring, tongues warring, hands clawing like we were trying to rip each other apart just to get closer. She tasted like smoky whiskey laced with raw honey and pure fucking sin. Her back crashed into the wall hard enough to rattle the framed photos, and she let out this broken gasp straight into my mouth, her thigh snapping up to lock around my waist, grinding her heat against the ridge in my jeans like she was already trying to ride me through the denim. The instant my palms hit her bare shoulders—skin finally on skin (no barriers, no excuses)—it hit us both. A violent, electric snap. Like a circuit closing. Like every cell in her body just got hijacked and reprogrammed to one single setting: mine. Her whole frame locked up for one brutal heartbeat, muscles seizing, breath choking off—then she melted, fucking liquefied against me, spine bowing so hard her tits crushed into my chest. "Jesus—fuck—" she panted, lips swollen and wet against mine. "What the hell was that?" I didn’t waste words. Just dragged my mouth down the sharp line of her jaw, teeth scraping, while my fingers burned trails across her collarbone. Every inch I claimed flushed dark rose under my touch, her skin lighting up like I was rewriting her from the inside out. "This is insane," she rasped between frantic kisses, "this is the worst fucking idea—" "Catastrophically bad," I growled against her throat, finding that frantic pulse and sucking hard. The second my tongue pressed there, her entire body convulsed—hips bucking, nails raking my scalp, a choked cry ripping out of her like I’d just shoved two fingers deep inside without warning. My jacket hit the floor in a heap. Her fists twisted viciously in my hair, yanking hard enough to sting, then her palms slid down my neck, over my shoulders—and the moment she made full, greedy contact with my skin, she went dead still. "Christ," she whispered, voice shredded. "Your skin... it’s burning. Not hot—fucking nuclear. And..." Her fingers traced my jaw, my throat, down the center of my chest like she was mapping something impossible. "Flawless. Too flawless. Like carved marble that’s somehow alive." "Shut up," I snarled, teeth grazing her earlobe as I found the zipper of her dress and dragged it down in one slow, deliberate rip. The sound of the teeth parting was obscene in the quiet. I didn’t stop until the fabric gaped open, then shoved the straps off her shoulders and let the whole thing pool at her waist. I pulled back just enough to look. Black lace bra straining to contain those heavy, perfect tits: the fabric so sheer her dark nipples pushed against it like they were trying to tear free, stiff and aching for my teeth, my tongue, my claim. Golden skin glistening under the hallway light, every inch of her glowing like she’d been dipped in liquid sin. A soft, toned stomach I wanted to sink my teeth into, leave marks that would bloom tomorrow like signatures. Wide hips built for my hands to bruise, for my fingers to dig in while I fucked her so hard she forgot how to breathe. Thick thighs I was going to force apart and bury myself between until she was sobbing my name, until her cunt clenched around my cock like a fist, until she dripped down my balls and begged me never to leave. Every curve screamed mine—even before I touched her. Especially before I touched her. She was a walking wet dream, and every inch of her was reacting to me like I’d injected pure lust straight into her veins—nipples diamond-hard and straining against the thin cotton of her tank, goosebumps racing across her chest in violent waves, thighs clenching together so hard the muscles in her legs jumped, the scent of her arousal flooding the air like a broken bottle of the filthiest perfume. A visible shiver rolled through her when my gaze dropped to the wet spot already darkening the front of her shorts, the fabric clinging to swollen lips that pulsed with every heartbeat. "Don’t look at me like that," she hissed, but her voice cracked, raw, desperate, the words tasting like surrender. "Like what?" I stepped in until she had to crane her neck, until my erection ground against her belly—thick, unforgiving, the heat of it searing through both layers of fabric. She whimpered—a broken, needy sound that vibrated straight to my cock. "Like you already own every inch of me. Like you know exactly how soaked I am right now." I locked eyes with her—let her see the raw, unfiltered possession roaring through me. No pretense. No mercy. Just the truth: I was going to ruin her for anyone else tonight, and her body already knew it, already begged for it. Her pupils blew wide, black swallowing hazel. A violent flush detonated across her chest, up her throat, staining her cheeks crimson. Her hands shook as they fisted in my shirt, knuckles white, nails scraping skin. "What the fuck are you?" she breathed, voice trembling on the edge of fear and worship, her hips rolling forward involuntarily, grinding her soaked cunt against my thigh. "Starving," I said. She ripped my shirt open—buttons flying like shrapnel, pinging off the walls, scattering across the hardwood. Didn’t care. Her palms slammed against my bare chest and she made this sound: low, guttural, half-sob, half-prayer, her fingers digging into muscle like she was trying to claw her way inside me. "Fuck," she choked, fingers tracing every ridge of muscle like she couldn’t believe they were real, nails scraping, claiming. "This body... at seventeen? You’re not— you can’t be—" I cut her off by walking her backward, hard, hands vise-gripped on her hips, forcing her deeper into the apartment, toward whatever surface I was going to bend her over first. Each step ground my cock against her belly, the friction making her gasp, her pussy clenching visibly through her shorts, another gush of wetness soaking through. "Can’t what?" I growled against her mouth, teeth grazing her lower lip, biting just hard enough to make her whine. "Can’t make you come so hard you forget you’re supposed to feel guilty about this? Watch me." "Look like a fucking god," she rasped, her nails raking down my chest like she was trying to carve her name into marble, leaving red trails that burned in the best way. "Feel like one. Your skin—Christ—it’s alive under my hands, hot, hard, pulsing like it’s wired straight to my cunt. Every time you touch me it’s like lightning shooting straight to my clit. I’m dripping and you’ve barely started. This isn’t right. This is wrong. You’re seventeen and I’m—" "Stop thinking," I growled, bending to bite her lower lip hard enough to make her whimper, the taste of her blood mixing with her lipstick, copper and cherry and sin. "Just feel how soaked your pussy is for a minor." I scooped her up—effortless. Her legs locked around my waist on pure instinct, ankles crossing at the small of my back, heels digging into my skin like she was trying to fuse us. The second her soaked, clenching cunt ground against my bare abs she cried out—raw, broken, shocked at herself, the sound ripping through the room like a confession she couldn’t take back. "Fuck—fuck—"