Katya Part III

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Part III


…And then, the night would dissolve into heat.
Bodies pressed together, hands gripping hips, fingers tangled in hair. Skin on skin, slick and warm, every touch electric. Lips found their way to necks, chests, stomachs—wherever there was space to taste, to feel. The sounds of breath quickening, of low, breathless moans, filled the room, drowning out everything else…

Katya would finally join in, of course. 
She always did. 
She’d slide into the tangle of bodies with that same languid grace, 
taking her time, 
her touch light at first, teasing. Her hands trailing down someone’s back, her lips grazing their jawline. She made sure everyone felt her, 
even if just for a moment, before she moved on to the next. She didn’t need anyone’s full attention — that wasn’t her game. The feeling that she could slip in and out of your consciousness without ever really being caught.

By the end of the night, the air would be thick with the aftermath of it all — the smell of sweat and smoke and s*x, the room hazy and heavy, like the world had slowed down and melted. We’d all lie there, breath slowing, bodies cooling, but still buzzing with the remnants of desire. 

Katya would usually light a cigarette then, 
leaning back against the couch, 
her skin flushed, eyes half-lidded. She liked to watch us unravel, liked to see what she’d created. She never asked for anything more than that — the knowledge that she had us all in her orbit, 
even if just for a night.