The List

Leana Lovings buzzes with thrill, murmuring to herself as she nears the dresser: 'I can't believe Seth's finally hooked me up with my own empty drawer here... We're diving deep now.' But yanking it open for the first shot, a crumpled scrap tumbles free from the top—stuck there like a dirty secret. Her buzz sours to a gnawing itch, then icy shock as she smooths it out: a roster of women's names, hers smack in the mix. Every other one's slashed through like a kill list. Eyes glued to her uncrossed tag, dread coils tight in her gut. She wavers, biting her lip, then shoves the paper down her waistband and slips from the room, shadows playing on her tense frame. She corners her man, Seth Gamble, probing sly for the raw truth, her voice a timid whisper in the dim light. But he dodges every jab, slick as sin, until she dangles the bait: a filthy role-play fuck between faceless strangers, her picking a ghost name from that damned list. His eyes flash hungry, and he caves, slamming into her with raw, pounding lust—bodies slick and grinding in a haze of moans and sweat-soaked thrusts, her nails raking his back as he drives deep, oblivious to her frantic hints or so it seems. How blind is this bastard, truly? The question hangs like a noose in the fevered air.