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His fingers twitched at his side, the beginnings of a longing rekindling deep within him—a yearning for more than just the touch of another person, but for the warmth of connection, the promise of healing. “Erin had good taste,” Cheyenne said, placing the folded sweater on top of the pile. The vibrant energy that usually surrounded her seemed out of place in this tomb of lost hope. “Fuck that was hot baby! She pried open windows not caring if anyone was to see her, inviting the crisp outside air to sweep through the stagnant atmosphere, replacing the scent of neglect with the promise of renewal. The cheeks, and crack, but did not work long there before moving down his legs. The kitchen counters shone, free of clutter, while the appliances glistened like they were just unwrapped from their boxes. As she slid back into him she pumped more lube along it’s shaft to make sure he was wet enough to take a good fucking. It had been a new experience for him, but one he had enjoyed immensely. But he remained silent, enjoying the show instead of disrupting it with his desires. In that moment, she seemed less like an intruder and more like a beacon, guiding him toward a life where pleasure wasn’t interred with the dead.