Restless

Martin (Tommy Pistol) is unraveling since his wife's death, nights blurring into a haze of sleepless torment that claws at his sanity. He's clinging to the edge, but the void is swallowing him whole—exhaustion twisting his thoughts into shadows. If only he could surrender to sleep, salvation might come. Tori (Savannah Sixx), his stepdaughter, mourns her mother too, her heart shattering as she watches Martin crumble. She aches to mend him, whispering assurances they'll survive this hell together. He always fusses over her, brushing a goodnight kiss before bed. But deprivation warps him, his gaze darkening on her lithe form beneath the sheets—she's a haunting echo of his lost love. What if pressing against her could shatter the insomnia? One stormy night, Tori awakens to Martin's body curled behind hers, his heat invading her space. Panic surges as she recoils. He's shattered, stammering apologies, pleading for mercy—he needs her, craves her to anchor his descent. One raw, forbidden fuck, he gasps, might drain the madness and grant him peace. Torn and trembling, Tori faces his raw anguish; she can't bear his suffering. If bedding her stepdad is the brutal key to their fractured bond, she'll seize it, bodies colliding in desperate, sweat-slicked frenzy—his thrusts pounding out grief, her moans a mix of dread and illicit fire, until exhaustion claims them both in taboo release.