Chapter 3

The luxury suite glowed with warm light as Savannah and Cody sat at the small dining table, a room-service spread courtesy of Obsidian Throne laid out before them—steak, mashed potatoes, a bottle of wine, all charged to the label that had swallowed her Atlanta life. She picked at her food, but her mind was elsewhere—back in D-Mack’s office, her lips stretched around his massive cock.

Cody cut into his steak, his button-down shirt neat but out of place in the suite’s opulence, his blue eyes flicking to her as he chewed. “So, how was your day, Sav?” he asked, his Tennessee drawl gentle but curious. “What’d you get up to at the studio?”

Savannah’s fork paused mid-air, her hazel eyes darting to the side as she forced a smile. “Oh, just recordin’,” she said, her Southern twang clipped, evasive. “Same old stuff, layin’ down tracks.” The memory flashed unbidden—D-Mack’s eleven-inch cock pulsing in her mouth, his thick seed spilling down her chin—and her pussy trembled, a wet heat flaring in her jeans. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs, trying to focus on the mashed potatoes instead of the lust still simmering from that afternoon.

Cody frowned, setting his knife down, his frustration bubbling up. “You’re actin’ distant again, Sav—aloof, like you ain’t even here. What’s goin’ on with you?” His gaze sharpened, raking over her outfit—her bare midriff, the tight jeans—and his voice tightened. “And why you dressed like a slut lately? That top, them jeans—what’s that about?”

Her head snapped up, her hazel eyes flashing as anger flared, the cocaine’s edge still lingering in her nerves. “Stop bein’ such a damn prude, Cody,” she snarled, her twang cutting sharp. “I’m just dressin’ how I feel—ain’t no crime in that. You don’t like it, that’s your problem.” She stabbed at her steak, her hand trembling slightly, the memory of D-Mack’s praise—fine little white hoe—echoing in her head, making her pussy clench again. She shoved the guilt down, her aloofness a shield against Cody’s questions, his innocence grating against the fire she’d stoked with D-Mack.

Cody leaned back, his jaw tight, hurt flickering in his eyes. “I’m just tryin’ to understand you, Sav. You’re different here—don’t tell me you ain’t.” His voice softened, pleading, but the gap between them widened, her evasiveness a wall he couldn’t breach.

She took a long sip of wine, her red lips staining the glass, and stared past him, the suite’s luxury a reminder of Obsidian Throne’s hold. “I’m fine,” she muttered, her tone flat, but her body betrayed her—wet, restless, aching for something Cody couldn’t give, the taste of D-Mack still haunting her mouth.

Cody set his wine glass down, his blue eyes softening as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Sav,” he said, his Tennessee drawl low and earnest. “Didn’t mean to rile you up. I just ... I care, y’know?” His apology hung there, a olive branch, and the tension between them softened, the casual rhythm of their old conversations creeping back—talk of home, the weather, small things that felt safe.

Savannah nodded, her red lips curving into a faint smile as she sipped her wine, her hazel eyes flickering to him. “It’s alright,” she murmured, her Southern twang gentling, though her mind still drifted to D-Mack—his massive cock, the way it had filled her mouth, the taste of him lingering. Her pussy gave a faint tremble, and she shifted in her chair, her ripped skinny jeans tight against her thighs.

Cody cleared his throat, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. “Uh ... I was thinkin’,” he started, his voice halting, “maybe I’d be up for tryin’ again, y’know?” He glanced at her, then away, his cheeks flushing. “Like ... last night, when you were, uh ... about to...”

Savannah blinked, her fork pausing as she pieced it together—his oblique reference to her almost sucking him off in the suite, before he’d cum too quick. A laugh burst from her mouth, sharp and unbidden, at the thought of sucking Cody’s little white prick—small, quick to finish—after choking on D-Mack’s big black monster earlier that day. The comparison was absurd, laughable, and she couldn’t stifle it, her hand flying to her mouth too late, the sound echoing in the room.

Cody’s face fell, hurt flashing in his eyes as he leaned back, his jaw tightening. “What’s so funny, Sav?” he asked, his voice quiet, wounded, his fingers stilling on the table.

Her laughter died, guilt stabbing her as she saw his pain. “Oh, Cody, I’m sorry,” she rushed out, her twang thick with panic as she reached for his hand. “It ain’t you—I just ... I thought of somethin’ dumb from the studio, a stupid joke. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” The excuse was lame, flimsy, but she pressed on, desperate to mollify him. “I love you, darlin’, you know that—more’n anything.” She squeezed his hand, her cross pendant swaying as she leaned forward, her diamond ring catching the light, willing him to believe her.

He looked at her, his blue eyes searching, still shadowed with hurt. “Yeah ... okay,” he said finally, his voice soft but uncertain, accepting her apology though the sting lingered. He forced a small smile, picking up his fork again, but the ease between them felt fragile, cracked by her laugh and the secret she couldn’t share—D-Mack’s cock, its size and power, looming in her mind, making Cody’s offer feel small in a way she couldn’t unfeel.

Cody broke the silence, his voice tentative as he set his fork down. “You didn’t really answer, Sav,” he said, his Tennessee drawl soft but pointed. “‘Bout last night—tryin’ again. What d’you think?”

Savannah blinked, her hazel eyes widening as she set her glass down, her hand brushing her cross pendant. She scrambled for words, her heart twisting—she didn’t want to hurt Cody, his gentle face so earnest across from her, but the thought of sucking his tiny white cock after D-Mack’s thick, black monster felt laughable, repulsive even. She swallowed, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. “I ... I was in a weird mood last night,” she said, her Southern twang faltering as she grasped for an excuse. “Wasn’t in my right mind, y’know? I don’t think we should be doin’ that kinda thing ‘til we’re married.”

Cody frowned, leaning forward slightly, his brow creasing. “But you didn’t mind last night,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, confusion lacing his words. “You were all over me—said we’re practically married anyway.”

Her temper flared, the cocaine’s edge and her guilt colliding. “Well, I changed my mind, alright?” she snapped, her twang cutting sharp as she glared at him, her loose hair falling into her face. “I ain’t feelin’ it no more—can’t we just leave it at that?” Her hand gripped the edge of the table, her diamond ring glinting, a silent tether to the life she was dodging.

Cody recoiled, his hands raising in surrender, his face flushing. “Okay, Sav, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice softening, apologetic. “I get it, I do. We’ll wait—whatever you want.” His blue eyes searched hers, earnest and naive, trying to bridge the gap she’d widened.

Savannah’s chest tightened, her anger fading into a hollow ache as she watched him back down. He understood nothing—not the real reason, not D-Mack’s cock filling her mouth that day, not the fire it had lit in her that Cody’s small, quick prick could never touch. She forced a smile, her red lips trembling slightly. “Thanks, darlin’,” she murmured, her tone gentler now, but the lie sat heavy between them.

He nodded, picking up his fork again, oblivious to the storm inside her—the lust, the shame, the secret that made her snap, all rooted in a man he’d never suspect.

The cavernous soundstage owned by Obsidian Throne buzzed with activity as Savannah stood under the bright lights, her tight white dress clinging to her curves like a second skin. The fabric stretched across her pert breasts and hugged her hips, its modest length and high neckline a deceptive nod to innocence, while still showcasing her sexy body—long legs, slim waist, the swell of her ass. Her honey-blonde hair hung loose, her makeup subtle for now, accentuating her hazel eyes and fair skin. Her cross pendant rested against her chest, the diamond ring glinted on her finger, but they felt like props, relics of a life she barely recognized anymore.

She’d just finished filming a scene kneeling before an altar on a set designed to mirror her daddy’s rural Tennessee church—wooden pews, stained glass, a towering cross. The director had explained it was to establish her persona: a devout, innocent white girl before D-Mack’s world consumed her.

As she’d knelt there, hands clasped, head bowed, it had felt unfamiliar, like slipping into a costume. Less than a week in Atlanta, and already that pious girl seemed a character she was playing, not the real Savannah. The real her was the one who’d sucked D-Mack’s massive cock yesterday, who’d beamed at his filthy praise, who’d felt her pussy gush at his command.

Now, she sat in a makeup chair, stylists teasing her hair and brushing powder over her cheeks to perfect her “innocent” look. The director approached—an older black man, maybe fifty, but strong and confident, his broad shoulders, muscular chest, and deep voice radiating masculine authority. He loomed over her, explaining the next scene with a calm intensity. “You’re walkin’ into the nightclub VIP section,” he said, his tone firm, instructional. “D-Mack’s already there, loungin’ with his queens. You project innocence—wide eyes, hesitant steps—but curiosity too, like you’re drawn to him. He beckons you, and you go. Got it?”

Savannah nodded eagerly, her heart thudding, intimidated by her first “acting” role. “Yes, sir,” she murmured, her Southern twang soft but earnest, her hazel eyes locked on his. Nerves twisted her stomach—she’d never acted before, never been on camera like this—but it felt inwardly right to take a black man’s instructions, to agree to what he said. The cocaine from yesterday lingered in her system, a faint buzz amplifying her need to please, to submit to his direction.

D-Mack swaggered over, his muscular frame draped in a black tank top and low-slung pants, gold chains glinting as he grinned down at her. “You look hot as fuck, church girl,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his brown eyes raking over her dress, lingering on her curves. “Sexy as hell in that.”

Her pussy trembled at his praise, a familiar wet heat flaring in her jeans as she blushed, her fair cheeks warming. “Thanks,” she whispered, her gaze dropping shyly, then lifting to scan the set. Black men moved everywhere—cameramen, lighting techs, assistants—all focused, all powerful in their own way. She felt desperate to please them all, especially the director and D-Mack, their authority a pull she couldn’t resist. D-Mack clapped her shoulder, his touch electric, then strode off to take his place in the VIP set—a plush red couch surrounded by his queens in thongs and heels, their bodies pressed close to his.

Savannah stood, smoothing her dress, her boots clicking as she moved to her mark. The director called, “Places!” and she took a deep breath, her nerves jangling but her body alive with anticipation. She was about to step into D-Mack’s world on camera, to let the transformation she’d already lived play out for all to see, and the thought of his beckoning hand, his dominant gaze, made her clit pulse, her submission to him—and to this new life—feeling more real than ever.

The soundstage darkened as the shoot began, the bright studio lights fading into the dim red glow and pulsing strobes of a nightclub set. The air thrummed with a trap beat, the bass vibrating through Savannah’s cowboy boots as she waited at her mark, the dress clinging to her curves, its modest cut a stark contrast to the heat simmering inside her. Across the set, D-Mack lounged on the couch. His queens—white, Asian, Latina—writhed over him, their bodies in thongs and heels fawning, grinding, their hands roaming his arms and thighs. They were ornamentation, a living testament to his black sexual prowess and magnetic charisma, their adoration amplifying his dominance.

The director’s voice cut through the haze—”Action!”—and Savannah stepped forward, her boots clicking hesitantly on the faux-marble floor. She didn’t have to fake her intimidation; her heart pounded, her hazel eyes wide with a mix of nerves and awe as she strode slowly toward D-Mack. Her pussy grew moist, a slick heat blooming under her dress, her nipples stiffening against the thin fabric as she approached him, drawn by his pull.

The queens parted slightly, their eyes flicking to her with smirks, and D-Mack locked his brown gaze on her, beckoning her with a single finger. She reached him, and he pulled her close, his huge hand swallowing hers, the warmth of his grip sending a jolt through her. Her eyes darted down instinctively, catching the massive bulge of his cock straining his pants—huge, undeniable, a shadow of the monster she’d sucked yesterday—and her breath hitched, her body trembling.

The camera zoomed in, capturing their contact—his fingers engulfing hers, her fair skin against his dark hand, the tension crackling between them. D-Mack leaned forward, his lips grazing her ear as he whispered something low and inaudible over the music, his breath hot against her skin. Savannah gasped in aroused shock, a soft, involuntary sound that echoed in the mic, her cross pendant glittering in the spotlight as her chest heaved. Her pussy clenched, juices trickling down her thigh, the sensation raw and unstoppable under the dress.

“Cut!” the director called, his deep voice breaking the spell. “That’s a wrap—great work, everybody!” He clapped his hands, his strong frame silhouetted against the lights, his approval ringing out. Savannah blinked, stepping back, her legs shaky as the strobes dimmed and the set buzzed with crew chatter.

D-Mack stood, towering over her, his grin wide as he clapped her shoulder. “You were hot as fuck out there, church girl—sexy as hell,” he said, his voice a rumble that sank into her bones.

She beamed with pride, her fair cheeks flushing, her pussy pulsing harder at his words, the trickle of juices now a wet streak down her leg. “Thanks,” she murmured, her twang husky, overwhelmed by the thrill of pleasing him. She turned quickly, hurrying toward the washroom off the soundstage, her boots clicking as she went, desperate to clean herself up.

The door shut behind her, and she leaned against the sink, panting, her reflection showing a girl caught between the spotlight and the fire D-Mack had lit, her dress damp and her body still humming with need. She lifted the hem of her tight white dress, the fabric stretching as she mopped up the pussy juice slicking her inner thighs, her fair skin flushed from the heat D-Mack had stoked during the shoot. Her cowboy boots scuffed the tile as she adjusted her dress, smoothing it over her curves. She glanced in the mirror—hair slightly tousled, eyes still dilated from arousal—and composed herself, pushing the door open to rejoin the crew.

Back on the soundstage, the set buzzed with activity as techs hauled scenery around—faux nightclub walls shifting, lights repositioning—for the next shoot. Savannah watched, her arms crossed, her body still humming from the scene they’d just wrapped. D-Mack approached, his muscular frame cutting through the chaos, a few of his queens trailing behind him—platinum blonde, curvy Latina, their heels clicking, their eyes flicking to her with faint smirks. He slid a large hand onto her shoulder, his touch firm and warm through the dress, and she felt her pussy moisten again, a fresh trickle of heat blooming between her legs.

“Gonna be a while ‘fore they’re ready,” he said, his deep voice a rumble as he nodded toward the set. “Come hang in my trailer—chill with me.” His brown eyes glinted with a knowing edge, his gold chains catching the light.

Savannah’s heart skipped, her arousal flaring at his contact, his casual command. “Yeah, sure,” she said eagerly, her Southern twang soft but quick, her hazel eyes meeting his with a flicker of need. He grinned, sliding his arm around her waist, his hand resting low on her hip as he led her off the soundstage. The queens followed, their steps reluctant as they trailed behind, and Savannah felt a thrill at being chosen, her body pressed close to his as they crossed the lot to his trailer.

The door swung open, revealing a luxuriously appointed space—black leather couches, gold-trimmed mirrors, a flat-screen TV blaring trap music, bling dripping from every surface. Savannah stepped inside, overwhelmed by the glitz, her boots sinking into plush carpet as D-Mack shut the door, leaving his queens outside. He moved to a bar counter, pouring a glass of Hennessy from a crystal decanter, the amber liquid glinting as he smirked at her. “Your favorite, right, church girl?” he teased, handing it over, his fingers brushing hers.

She blushed, her cheeks warming as she took the glass, the memory of her first taste at his party flashing back. “Guess it is now,” she murmured, sipping it, the burn sliding down her throat, stoking the heat already simmering in her core. D-Mack chuckled, setting his own glass down, then pulled out a baggie of weed and a small vial of coke. He rolled a few blunts with deft fingers, the scent of marijuana filling the air, and tapped out two lines of white powder on a gold-plated tray. “Take what you want, baby,” he said, leaning back against the counter, his tank top stretching over his chest, his eyes daring her to dive deeper.

Savannah’s pussy clenched, her nipples stiffening under the dress as she stared at the offerings—Hennessy in her hand, blunts and coke laid out like a feast. The trailer’s opulence, D-Mack’s presence, his casual dominance—it all pulled her in, her eagerness to please him, to lose herself in his world, overriding the faint echo of her old self. She set the glass down, her hand trembling slightly, and stepped closer.

She leaned down, snorting up two lines of the white powder in quick succession, the burn searing her nostrils as the rush slammed into her system. She straightened, wiping her nose with a twitchy finger, a wild grin splitting her face. “Fuck, that’s good!” she exclaimed, the swear bursting out, raw and loud. A small part of her brain flickered, idly noting how foul-mouthed she’d gotten—cursing like it was natural now, a far cry from the preacher’s daughter who’d arrived in Atlanta days ago.

She turned to D-Mack, her body buzzing, and launched herself at him, kissing him hard on the lips. Her manicured hands clung to his muscular frame, one gripping his tank top, the other diving down to clutch his massive cockbulge through his pants. She moaned into his mouth, her tongue eager, tasting him—musk, liquor, power—as her fingers squeezed the thick, hard outline, her pussy trembling with need. D-Mack groaned, his large hands groping her ass and tits through the tight white dress, kneading her curves roughly. Then, with a swift tug, he ripped the fabric apart, the dress tearing into white tatters that clung to her body—shreds hanging off her shoulders, exposing her bra and panties, her slim waist and toned legs bared. Her cowboy boots stayed on, her loose hair wild.

He pulled back, smirking, his brown eyes glinting as he taunted her. “Damn, church girl, you’re fuckin’ horny—can’t get enough, huh?”

Savannah’s breath hitched, her nipples stiffening against the tattered remnants, her pussy gushing wet down her thighs. “I need to be fucked,” she said, her Southern twang husky, desperate, the words spilling out unfiltered, her need overriding everything.

D-Mack chuckled, his gold chains shifting as he leaned closer. “Thought you was waitin’ for marriage, baby—what happened to that?”

“Fuck that shit,” she shot back, her voice sharp, defiant, her hands already fumbling with his pants. She unzipped them, tugging them down, and his massive black cock sprang free—eleven inches, veiny, rock-hard, pulsing in the dim light. Her jaw slackened, awe and lust flooding her as she wrapped her hand around it, stroking its thick length, feeling its power. Her pussy gushed harder, juices trickling down her legs, pooling at her boots as she moaned, a needy, pleading sound. “Please, D-Mack—fuck me,” she begged, her eyes locked on his, her body trembling, her hand pumping his cock faster. “I need it—need you—please.”

He grinned, his hand sliding into her hair, gripping it as he watched her unravel, her desperation a trophy of his dominance. The trailer’s luxury—the leather, the gold, the bling—faded into the background, her world narrowing to him, his cock, the fire he’d ignited that she couldn’t quench.

With a sudden move, he pushed her down onto the black leather couch, her back hitting the cushions hard. She sprawled there, legs spreading instinctively, the tattered remnants of her white dress clinging to her curves—shreds exposing her bra, her panties soaked and useless. Her cowboy boots scuffed the leather, her loose hair fanning out, her cross pendant swaying between her breasts, the diamond ring glinting faintly. He positioned himself above her, his massive black cock—eleven inches, veiny, dripping with precum—hovering over her, teasing her trembling cuntlips with its thick head.

She looked down, her hazel eyes wide with awe at its size and power, the sheer girth of it dwarfing anything she’d imagined. Her pussy quivered, slick with need, her body aching for him despite the cocaine-fueled haze. D-Mack snarled, a primal sound, and slid into her, stretching her open with a single, relentless thrust. Pain seared through her—sharp, burning—as her tight, untouched pussy yielded to his invasion, but it felt so fucking good, a raw ecstasy that ripped a shriek from her throat. She’d never even masturbated, never known penetration, and now D-Mack’s huge cock was splitting her apart, her first fuck an overwhelming collision of agony and pleasure.

He started pounding her, his hips driving his cock in and out of her tight pussy with brutal force, making her body shake beneath him. Her tits jiggled in her bra, spilling out as the tattered dress slipped further, her nipples stiff and aching as he fucked her powerfully. She whined, a high, needy sound, her legs trembling around him, her hands clawing at the couch. His voice growled over her, spewing nasty filth that sank into her bones. “Take it, you little white slut—fuckin’ tight for my black dick, huh? You’re just a hole now, church girl—my bitch to pound.”

Savannah whimpered under him, her body rocking with each thrust, loving his power, his strength, the way he owned her completely. The pain faded into a throbbing pleasure, her pussy clenching around him, gushing wetter with every slam of his hips. Her shrieks turned to moans, her head thrown back, her cross pendant bouncing against her chest as he ravaged her. She’d never felt anything like this—never touched herself, never dreamed of this—and D-Mack’s dominance, his massive cock stretching her, filled the void she hadn’t known existed, her submission to him total as she surrendered to the ecstasy of being fucked.

The tattered white dress hung off her in shreds, her cowboy boots digging into the cushions, her loose hair a wild halo around her flushed face. Her cross pendant bounced with each thrust, the diamond ring glinted faintly on her finger, but they were relics now, meaningless against the raw power owning her. He snarled down at her, his muscular frame glistening with sweat, gold chains swinging as he fucked her relentlessly.

“Love this black cock, don’t you, church girl?” he taunted, his deep voice dripping with mockery. “Fuckin’ white pussy ruined now—love stretchin’ you out, makin’ you mine.” His hips slammed harder, his eleven-inch length driving deep, and he grinned, his brown eyes glinting. “Bet you won’t even feel that white boy’s little dick after this—ain’t no goin’ back.”

Savannah looked up at him, her hazel eyes glazed with lust, moans spilling from her lips as his words sank in. Her body arched, her back bowing off the couch as a climax ripped through her, her pussy clenching around his cock, gushing wetter with every brutal thrust. “Oh fuck—yes!” she cried, her Southern twang breaking into a scream, the pleasure overwhelming, shattering her. D-Mack pushed her bra down, the straps snapping as he bared her round, firm tits, his large hands molesting them—squeezing, pinching her stiff nipples—owning her body completely. She writhed beneath him, wild with ecstasy, her skin tingling under his rough touch.

He leaned down, kissing her dominantly, his tongue invading her mouth, thick and commanding. She sucked eagerly on it, her lips desperate, tasting him—sweat, Hennessy, power—as he fucked her harder, going balls-deep inside her. She felt it—the full length of him, his massive black testicles slapping against her, filling her in a way she’d never imagined, a depth Cody’s small, quick cock could never have reached. She loved it, knew it in her bones—D-Mack gave her what Cody never could, what black men could, and the realization fueled her climax, her body trembling, her moans muffled against his tongue as he claimed her mouth and pussy in tandem.

Her hands clawed at his back, nails digging into his skin as he pounded her through the orgasm, his taunts and touch driving her deeper into submission. She was his—ruined, remade, owned—and she reveled in it, her body shaking, her mind lost to the pleasure only he could give.

D-Mack’s hand reared back, smacking her bare tits hard, the sharp sting jolting through her as her round, firm flesh bounced under the blow. He growled, his voice a guttural snarl as he spat verbal filth down at her. “Fuckin’ white slut—take it, you little bitch—made for my black dick, ain’t you?” Another smack landed, her nipples throbbing, red marks blooming on her pale skin.

Savannah’s pussy clenched, a fresh climax ripping through her, hotter and wilder than before. She shrieked, “Yes—fuck, yes!” her Southern twang breaking into a scream, loving the abuse—his hands, his words, the way he took out his pent-up black fuck-lust on her white body. The pain twisted into pleasure, her cunt gushing wetter, her clit pulsing as she arched into his strikes, craving more.

He tensed above her, his muscular frame shuddering, his gold chains glinting as he gripped her hips. “Here it comes, you fuckin’ hoe,” he snarled, and with a final, brutal thrust, he came, unloading a prodigious flood of thick, hot cum into her pussy.

Savannah climaxed again, shrieking and screaming as his pulsing cock filled her, her body convulsing around him, her pussy milking every drop. It was far more than Cody’s pathetic spurts from nights ago—a torrent, a claiming, overwhelming her senses as it spilled deep inside her, marking her in a way Cody never could. Her legs trembled, her tits heaving with each ragged breath, her moans echoing in the trailer as the orgasm tore through her, fueled by his dominance, his seed, his power.

D-Mack groaned, his thrusts slowing as he emptied himself, his massive black testicles twitching against her. Savannah lay there, panting, her body shaking, cum leaking from her stretched pussy onto the leather, her mind reeling from the intensity. She’d never known this—never felt so used, so owned, so alive—and she loved it, her submission to him complete, her old life drowned in the flood of his black cum.

The air in D-Mack’s trailer hung heavy with the scent of weed and sex as Savannah sat entwined with him on the black leather couch, their bodies pressed close, skin still slick with sweat. They’d fucked again after the first frenzied round—the second time slower, more tender, D-Mack teasing her with long, deliberate thrusts, taunting her in a low growl: “You love this black dick, huh, church girl? Can’t get enough now.”

She’d moaned beneath him, her legs wrapped around his hips, her pussy yielding to his massive cock as he drew out her pleasure, her body trembling through another climax. Now, they lounged together, the big-screen TV blasting rap videos—thumping beats, scantily clad women twerking—while they shared a blunt, passing it between them, the smoke curling lazily upward.

Savannah leaned against his chiseled chest, her cowboy boots still on, her loose hair tangled and wild, her cross pendant resting against her bare skin, the diamond ring glinting on her finger—Cody’s ring, a sharp, accusing weight she couldn’t ignore. She was naked otherwise, the tattered remnants of her white dress strewn across the floor, a shredded testament to her lost innocence.

She knew she should feel horrible—her virginity, promised to Cody, given to D-Mack in a cocaine-fueled haze—but she couldn’t stop thinking about how good his cock felt inside her, stretching her, filling her, claiming her in a way she’d never imagined. Her pussy still ached, a dull throb of satisfaction, and she shifted slightly, her thigh brushing his.

D-Mack exhaled a plume of smoke, his arm draped around her, his gold chains cool against her shoulder. “Video shoot’s goin’ dope,” he said idly, his voice a relaxed rumble. “You killed it out there—everybody saw it.” He took another hit, passing her the blunt. “We gotta expand this, baby—do a whole album together. You and me, fuckin’ up the game.”

Savannah’s pussy tingled afresh at the thought, a fresh wave of heat stirring as she imagined more time with him—more recording, more fucking, more of his massive cock owning her. She inhaled deeply, the smoke filling her lungs, and nodded, her hazel eyes glinting with excitement. “Yeah, I’d love that,” she murmured, her Southern twang soft, husky from the day’s exertion. She glanced down at herself, her nakedness suddenly stark against the leather, and laughed lightly. “Guess I’ll need a new dress delivered here, though—unless I wanna walk out naked.”