Ashes of Desire

Silverton breathed dampness, like an old dog curled up under a porch. Rain came suddenly, its sharp patter on the tin gutters crashing into the night like someone nervously flicking a lighter. The room where Anna and Tim stayed was stifling, the air thick with her perfume—vanilla laced with something sharp, like her own thoughts—and the heavy scent of sweat, sex, guilt. Anna sat on the bed, her thin robe tied haphazardly, barely covering her thighs. Her hair, damp with sweat, clung to her neck, and her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, as if they could erase the last half-hour.

The stream was over. Mark had left, leaving behind a silence that pressed harder than any scream. Her body still hummed from the orgasm, from his crude words, from the thought that thousands of eyes had watched her take him in her mouth, watched his cum drip down her face. Two thousand dollars. Two thousand for a private show, where she… what had she become? She didn’t know. But she knew she liked it. Her pussy still throbbed, her skin burned, and that scared her most of all. She hated herself for it. And still wanted more.

Anna stood, her legs trembling, nearly tripping over the panties strewn on the floor. The camera on its tripod stared at her like a dead eye, and she turned away, her cheeks flushing. *I have to wash it off.* She walked to the bathroom, her bare feet padding softly on the dark, polished parquet. Turning on the faucet, she leaned over the sink, her reflection in the large chrome-framed mirror unfamiliar: red cheeks, tangled hair, eyes full of shame and something else—something dark she was afraid to name. She splashed cold water on her face, washing away Mark’s sticky traces, her fingers trembling as she scrubbed her skin, as if she could erase not just his cum, but herself.

*Who am I now? A whore? Or a star?* The thought pounded in her head like a fly trapped against glass. She loved Tim. His blue eyes, his rough hands smelling of oil, his voice that always soothed. But Mark… Mark was poison seeping into her veins. His gaze, his voice, his damn cock, which she could still feel in her mouth—it hooked her like a barb. And worst of all: she loved being on camera. Loved how thousands of men watched, how their messages flooded the chat, how they paid to see more. She hated herself for it. And still wanted more.

She returned and sat on the bed, her robe damp at the chest, the fabric clinging to her skin, outlining her nipples. The weight in her chest pressed like a stone. She glanced at the camera and flinched, as if it might turn on by itself. *Tim can’t know. Or… should he?* He’d said he wanted to know. Wanted to see. But how could she tell him she didn’t just suck Mark off, she *came* from it? That her body betrayed their love, and she didn’t know how to stop?

The door creaked, and Anna jumped, her heart slamming in her chest. Tim walked in, shaking raindrops from his jacket. His light hair clung to his forehead, and his blue eyes, usually so soft, narrowed when he saw her. The robe, her red cheeks, the camera still aimed at the bed—he pieced it together faster than she could conjure an excuse.

“Anna?” His voice was quiet, but it carried a threat, like distant thunder. He dropped his bag on the floor, the parquet creaking softly. “What’s going on?”

Her mouth opened, but words caught in her throat. Her gaze darted to the camera, then to the floor, where her panties lay, untouched. *He’ll figure it out.* Her fingers clutched the robe, the fabric stretching, and she felt her nipples, still sensitive, rub against the silk. She wanted to vanish. Or scream. Or, damn it, spread her legs and forget everything.

“Tim, I…” she started, but he stepped closer, his boots leaving wet tracks on the parquet. His eyes slid over her body, over the robe barely covering her nakedness, and she saw his jeans tighten at the crotch. *He’s… turned on?* The thought hit her like a shock, and her own body responded, despite the fear.

“You were with him, weren’t you?” he asked, his voice trembling, not from weakness, but from something else—anger mixed with something dark. “With Mark. It was a stream, wasn’t it?”

Anna swallowed, her throat dry. *Tell the truth. He wanted to know.* She nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain’s drumming. “There was a stream first… then they invited me to a private… for two thousand dollars. They… they wanted…” She faltered, her cheeks burning. “I… I sucked him off, Tim. On camera. And… I… I liked it.”

Silence fell like a concrete slab. Tim stared at her, his chest heaving, his fists clenching until his knuckles whitened. She braced for a shout, a punch to the wall, anything. But he stayed silent, and that was worse. His gaze slid over her face, her lips, and she knew he was looking for traces that weren’t there. But he knew. He always knew when she lied.

“You… sucked him off?” he repeated, his voice hoarse, as if wrestling with himself. “And you… liked it?”

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving hot trails. “I… I didn’t want you to find out like this. But you said… you said you wanted to know. Wanted to… see.”

Tim stepped toward her, his boots creaking on the parquet. He grabbed her wrists, not roughly but firmly, and pulled her to him. His breath was hot, smelling of coffee and rain, and she felt his body tremble—with anger, with desire, with everything at once.

“Damn it, Anna,” he growled, his face so close she could see the raindrops on his eyelashes. “You… you go to him, you…” He cut himself off, his gaze dropping to her lips, and he kissed her—hard, almost ferociously, his tongue invading her mouth, as if he wanted to claim her entirely, to take back what Mark had stolen.

Anna gasped, her body responding instantly, despite the guilt. She clutched his shirt, her nails digging into the fabric, and kissed him back, her tongue meeting his, their kiss a mix of anger and desperation. His hands slid under her robe, gripping her hips, and she felt his erection press against her stomach through his jeans.

“You’re mine,” he growled, breaking the kiss, his voice low, thick with pain and passion. “Only mine, Anna. Got that?”

Tim slammed her against the wall, and her robe slipped off her shoulders, baring her body, still burning from the stream. Her nipples stood erect, her skin prickled with goosebumps, and she felt the wetness between her legs trickle down her inner thighs. Tim tore off his shirt, buttons scattering like tiny shards, and pressed himself against her, his chest warm, slick with rain. His hands grabbed her hips, lifting her, and she wrapped her legs around him, her heels digging into his back, her bare skin sliding against his jeans.

“Tell me,” he rasped, his lips sinking into her neck, biting the skin, leaving hot marks. “What did you feel? When he… when he was in your mouth?”

“Aahh,” Anna gasped, her body arching as his hand slid between her legs, fingers finding her pussy, wet and hot. They plunged into her in one rough motion, grazing her clit, and she moaned, her head thrown back, hitting the wall. “I… felt… them all… thousands… watching…”

“Damn it,” Tim growled, his fingers moving faster, squelching in her wetness, his other hand squeezing her breast, pinching her nipple until she cried out. “You… came with him? Admit it!”

“Yeah…” she exhaled, her voice breaking with tears, sweat beading on her temples. “I… came, Tim… when he… God…” Her words faded as his finger pressed her clit, and she jerked, her nails clawing his shoulders, leaving red streaks.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, his lips crashing into hers, his tongue hard, hungry, drowning her breath. He unzipped his jeans, freeing his cock—hard, hot, the tip glistening with precum. He pressed her harder against the wall, his hips forcing her legs wider, and she felt his cock rub against her entrance, sliding through her slickness. “Say it, Anna. Say you’re mine!”

“I… yours,” she moaned, her voice trembling, her pussy clenching, craving him, her hips bucking toward him. “Yours, Tim… please…”

He thrust into her with one fierce push, and she screamed, her body tensing, stretched by his length. “Aahh! Tim!” Her voice was wild, her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging until he growled. His hips slammed into hers, the slaps of their bodies echoing, drowning out the rain outside. The wall creaked, her back scraped against the smooth paint, leaving wet streaks.

“Fuck,” Tim snarled, his hands gripping her ass, spreading it, his cock driving deeper, each thrust making her breasts bounce, her nipples grazing his chest. “You… were with him… tell me… how he… touched you?”

“He… was… rough,” she gasped, her voice shaky, her hips moving in rhythm, meeting his thrusts. “His… hands… on me… but… you… you’re better…” Her body burned, her pussy gripped his cock, as if trying to hold him forever.

“Admit it!” he roared, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, not drawing blood but hard enough to make her cry out, her body shuddering. “You… came… with him!” His thrusts quickened, his cock pounding her, squelching in her wetness, sweat dripping down his chest, falling onto her skin.

“Aahh, yeah… I came!” she screamed, her voice raw with shame and lust, her eyes shut, tears mingling with sweat. “But… I’m… yours… Tim, please…” Her fingers dug into his back, her nails tearing skin, and she felt the orgasm building, a fire ready to explode.

“Mine,” he growled, his hand grabbing her neck, not squeezing but holding, his lips at her ear. “Come for me… now!” His cock hit deeper, striking her most sensitive spots, and she couldn’t hold back.

“Tim! Aahh!” Her scream tore through the air, her pussy clamping around his cock like a vise, her body shaking, pinned to the wall. Waves of orgasm crashed over her, her legs trembling, heels digging into his back, her breasts rubbing against his skin, until she went limp, gasping. “Tim…”

“Fuck,” Tim roared, his thrusts erratic, his cock pulsing, and she felt him come, hot streams filling her, dripping down her thighs. “Anna… mine…” His voice was hoarse, his body shuddering, pressing her against the wall, until he stilled, panting, his forehead resting on her shoulder.

They stood there, their bodies still fused, sweat mingling, their breathing ragged. Anna felt his cum trickle down her legs, her skin burning, her cheeks wet with tears and sweat. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze—blue, full of pain, love, and something dark that scared her.

“I… love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her fingers stroking his damp hair. “I’m sorry… sorry…”

He shook his head, his hand brushing her cheek, wiping away a tear. “I know,” he rasped, his voice tired but warm. “We… need to talk… but… not now.”

He pulled away, his jeans still undone, and headed to the bathroom. The door creaked, and the sound of water drowned out the silence. Anna was alone, her body trembling, her thoughts a chaos. She lay on the bed, her gaze falling on the laptop where the stream’s recording was stored—every moan, every glance from Mark, everything that could destroy them. Her heart clenched. Her phone buzzed, and she flinched, seeing a message from Kira.

*“Hey, star! How about a stream together? I’ve got a killer cosplay idea—we’ll tear up the Internet! Text me if you’re in!”*

Anna stared at the screen, her fingers frozen. Kira. Her energy, her laughter, her innocent boldness. It was like a ray of light in this damn darkness. But the thought of another stream, even with Kira, terrified her. *Can I stop?* The sound of water in the bathroom faded, and the door creaked again. Tim walked in, a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair still wet. He looked at her, his eyes tired but soft.

Anna swallowed, her voice shaky but resolute. “Tim… I have the recording…” She nodded at the laptop, her cheeks flushing. “You wanted to see it, didn’t you? I… I did it for you too.”

Tim froze, his gaze shifting to the laptop, then back to her. He saw her eyes—full of guilt, hope, love—and understood. She’d done it for the money, for herself, but also for him, for his desire to see her like that—alive, wild, his. His heart tightened, jealousy mingling with gratitude, with a love that still held them together. He stepped closer, his hand brushing her cheek, gentle, almost reverent.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice hoarse but warm. “We’ll figure it out… together.”

Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Silverton outside, with its rain and humming streets, faded away. It was just them, their love—fragile but alive—holding them despite Mark’s shadow, the recording, everything looming ahead. Anna nodded, her eyes glistening, and she leaned into his hand as the rain drummed outside, reminding them it wasn’t done with them yet.

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