wild_flame_555
Published Stories
Homecoming Inspection
The taxi pulled away from the curb, its taillights disappearing around the corner, and Demi stood on the porch with her weekend bag slung over one shoulder, already kicking off her sandals before she
Afterglow Inventory
The house had that particular Sunday-night quiet, the kind that settles in after a full weekend of fucking, snacking, napping, and fucking again. In the master bedroom, Demi and Bonnie were tangled up
A Fullness That Lingers
The leftover hum from the vibratorās remote still buzzed faintly against Demiās nightstand, a forgotten egg that rolled in lazy circles before settling. She didnāt bother turning it off. The sound was
Filling the Emptiness, One Stretch at a Time
Demiās bedroom smelled like coconut oil and the faint, clean ozone of charging silicone. The blackout curtains were drawn against the afternoon sun, casting the room in a perpetual, secretive twilight
A Weekend Spent Unraveling
The weekend at Demiās house had already shattered every expectation, leaving the four of them sprawled across her massive bed like survivors of a beautiful disaster. The air was thick with the scent o
The Final Application
The last dollop of cream squeezed out of the tube with a wet, sputtering sound. Demi tossed the empty container into the bathroom trash and leaned back against the mountain of pillows on her bed, her
Silver Thrum in the Grotto
The Uber dropped Demi three blocks from the club because she wanted the walk. Wanted the humid night air on her bare thighs, wanted the anticipatory click of her heels on the pavement, wanted the eyes
Pierced and Preening
The bathroom mirror was still fogged at the edges from Demiās shower, but sheād wiped a clear oval right where she needed it. Her copper hair was twisted up in a messy knot, damp tendrils clinging to
Growth Spurt
The cardboard box sat on Demiās bathroom counter like a promise she wasnāt sure she believed in yet. Dr. Hartwell had handed it over with a clinical shrug, explaining the experimental topical compound
Game Stream Unmuted
Demi kicked off her jeans with a grunt of satisfaction, the denim pooling on the bedroom floor like a shed skin. The house had that particular Friday night hum to itāthe distant pop of gunfire from th
Waking to Wanting
The dream had been filthy. Not the kind of hazy, half-remembered nonsense that usually evaporated by the time her feet hit the bathroom tiles, but a vivid, technicolor production starring some faceles
Holiday Cheer on Her Own Terms
The smell of sugar cookies still clung to the kitchen, a remnant of Demiās afternoon baking binge while Christmas carols blasted from the portable speaker on the counter. Now the speaker was silent, t
Homecoming Games
The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway sent a jolt through the house. Demi, perched on the arm of the sofa, her long copper hair spilling over her shoulders, shot a wicked grin at Bonnie. āTheyār
Cabin Fever Between the Pines
The truckās wipers squeaked against the windshield, fighting a losinā battle against the downpour. Gravel crunched under the tires as Ben pulled up to the fishing cabin, a squat cedar structure tucked
A Weekend Unplugged
The last of the weekendās pizza boxes had been shoved into the recycling bin, and the distant rumble of Benās truck had faded a good two hours ago. The house settled into a quiet hum, the kind that on
A Delicious Crime Scene
The pizza boxes lay scattered across the coffee table like the aftermath of a delicious crime scene. Grease spots bloomed on the cardboard, and a lone jalapeƱo slice clung to the lid of the top box, a
Grease Halos and Open Doors
The pizza boxes lay abandoned on the coffee table, grease soaking through the cardboard in translucent halos. Demi stretched her arms over her head, her copper hair spilling across the throw pillow sh
A Toast to Open Terms
Demi yanked the cork from the second bottle of rosĆ© with her teeth and spat it onto the kitchen counter. The wine sloshed as she poured two glasses, the stems clinking against the bottle neck. Sheād a
Rain-Soaked and Wanting
The rain had stopped somewhere around mile four, but Demiās boots were still squelching with every step down the hallway of the apartment she shared with Ben. Her copper hair was a disaster, a damp ta
The Weight of the Door
The front door clicked shut with a sound Ben had trained himself to recognize over the past two yearsāthe particular weight of it, the pause between the latch catching and the deadbolt sliding home. H
Shelter from the Downpour
The first fat drops of rain hit the windshield like someone throwing gravel, and Demi swore under her breath, squinting through the glass at the wall of green on either side of the dirt road. āYou sa