Afterglow
Copyright© 2025 by Eric Ross
Interlude — The Stillness After
Erotica Sex Story: Interlude — The Stillness After - They met in an alley: wild, reckless, unforgettable. Ginger never meant to fall for Coco’s chaos. Coco never meant to fall for anyone at all. But between stolen nights, whispered dares, and the kind of heat that burns through skin and bone, something unruly grew — something more dangerous than lust. This is not a story about taming a wild thing. It’s a story about becoming wild enough to stay.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Humor BDSM Light Bond Spanking Group Sex Anal Sex Cream Pie Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Voyeurism Big Breasts Hairy Public Sex
The rain was a whisper against the windows. A soft, constant hush that made everything else sound louder—tea sloshing in mugs, the tick of the toaster, the hum of my refrigerator working harder than it needed to.
Coco sat on the edge of the couch like it might buck her off if she relaxed. She wore one of my flannel shirts, sleeves too long, mismatched socks pulled to her knees. Her hair was tied up in a lazy knot that didn’t quite disguise the fact she hadn’t slept well.
She looked like chaos pretending to be cozy.
I flipped a pancake that didn’t deserve the name. It hit the pan with a sullen splat.
“Your kitchen’s too quiet,” she said.
I glanced over. “I can turn on music.”
“No.” She stared into her mug. “Then it’s not real. This is real.”
She took a sip and winced. “Too much ginger.”
“Too much Coco, too.”
She gave a ghost of a smile, then tucked her legs up beneath her like she was folding in on herself.
I slid the pancake onto a plate. It looked like a wound.
“I’m trying,” I said.
“I know.”
The silence returned—not angry, not comfortable. Just there.
Coco shifted, mug held close like a shield.
“I woke up at 4 a.m.,” she said. “Had my shoes on. Coat in hand. I didn’t even remember getting dressed. My body was leaving before my mind had the chance to argue.”
“But you didn’t leave.”
“I sat down on the kitchen floor and cried until the light changed.”
I set the plate down and crossed the room. Sat on the carpet in front of her. Not touching. Just grounding.
“You don’t cry,” I said.
“I do,” she whispered. “I just come louder.”
That silence again—different now. Charged. Like a held breath. Like a rope pulled taut between us.
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