No filters
By The Silken Serpen
The sun was setting behind the trees as I forcefully shut that rusty Ford door. The seat was torn, smelled like smoke and spilled beer, but I didn’t care. She was grinning like a devil, and my heart was already pounding in my chest. Boots hit the floorboard, sending gravel flying behind us. There was nothing but sky, dirt, and bad decisions ahead.
By the time we reached that crooked trailer, my pulse was louder than the engine. She pulled me close before I could catch my breath. Her lips were hard, desperate, and tasted like whiskey and trouble. Denim scraped my thighs, leather burned hot against my skin, and every button she tore loose felt like another mile marker to nowhere good.
We collapsed onto that busted mattress like we owned the night. Springs squealed, walls shook, and neighbours probably heard every curse spilling out of my mouth. But I didn’t care. Her hands were wild, my grip was tighter, sweat was dripping, hair was tangled, and nothing was polished or sweet. Just raw, ugly-beautiful hunger.
And damn… it was perfect.
Because in that moment, with no phone, no world, and no rules, it was just me, her, and the fire we had ignited.
No filters. No shame. No tomorrow.
