The plug shifts when she breathes. Seven lies on the bedroom carpet, legs still spread, ash cooling on her cunt lips. Her tongue throbs—a small, raw blister at the tip. The burn on her inner thigh pulses with each heartbeat, a tight, shiny circle the size of a dime. Above her, he crushes the cigarette into a mug on the nightstand and walks to the closet.
She hears the clink of his belt buckle before she sees it.










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