📚The Door Was Never Locked

He told himself he’d just drop by to talk.
It was late — too late to pretend he wasn’t there for more than words. But the door was never locked, and she never said no.

She opened it before he could knock — like she’d been waiting in the dark, phone in hand, ready to pull him back in. Her hair was a mess, t-shirt barely covering the tops of her thighs. No bra. No makeup. Just her mouth — soft, swollen, and already parted for him.

She didn’t greet him — just tugged him inside by his collar, slammed the door with her foot and pressed him against it so hard he felt the wood crack behind his shoulder blades.

Her kiss wasn’t sweet — it was hungry, reckless, her teeth scraping his lower lip as if punishing him for staying away too long. She tasted like leftover wine and something sweeter he couldn’t name — the same taste that always haunted him when he lay alone in his too-big bed.

She pulled his shirt over his head, nails dragging hot trails down his chest. He tried to grab her hips, but she pinned his wrists to the door instead, smirking when he growled under his breath.

“You missed me?” she teased, tongue flicking the corner of his mouth.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. She could feel how badly he missed her pressed against her thigh.

She dropped to her knees so fast he lost his breath. His hands tangled in her hair as she freed him from his jeans — her eyes locked on his as her lips parted around him.

Warm. Wet. Slow at first — dragging her tongue along his length like she was savoring a piece of forbidden fruit. She pulled back, let spit drip from her mouth, then took him deeper — so deep he hit the back of her throat and she moaned like she’d waited all week just for this.

When his hips bucked, she pinned him harder — nails digging crescents into his thighs. Her eyes never left his face, watching the way he clenched his jaw, the way his breath stuttered when she swallowed around him.

When he was close, he tried to pull away — but she dug her nails in deeper, keeping him right there, right where she wanted him. She took it all — every shudder, every desperate groan, her mouth working him until he went limp against the door, gasping for air.

She stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then pressed her body flush against his — the heat of her skin promising she wasn’t done with him yet.

“Don’t pretend you’ll lock me out again,” she whispered against his ear.
And he knew she was right — the door was never locked. Not for her. Never for her.

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