She hadn't left the house in twenty years. When he left, he took the last of warmth with him: no scent on the sheets, no weight in the bed, just silence. Time stopped making sense. She forgot what it meant to be looked at, to be touched, to be taken into the world.. Hands on her throat, lips where no light had touched in years, her body remembering faster than her mind could follow. No sweet words. No careful pauses. Just heat, rhythm, pressure — like worship without mercy. She had forgotten how loud pleasure could be.

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