Karl's smirk sharpened as Emily bent deeper into the fridge, her exposed skin glowing under the dim kitchen light. The sight of her obedience—her eagerness—sent a rush of dark satisfaction through him. But it wasn't enough. Not anymore. He wanted to see her unravel further, to test just how deep her warped perception ran.
He stood slowly, his bare feet silent against the floor, and closed the distance between them. Emily didn't turn, still humming as she inspected a moldy takeout container. Karl's hand snapped out, gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. She gasped, not in pain, but in delight, arching into his touch like a cat.
"Such a good slut," he hissed, his other hand smacking her bare ass with a sharp crack. The sound echoed, and Emily moaned, her fingers tightening around the fridge shelf.
"Thank you, Karl," she breathed, turning her head to smile at him, her cheeks flushed. "You're so… attentive."