"More," she whispered, her voice a raw, broken, beautiful plea. "Sam… please… more."
The words, a breathless admission of surrender, should have been a victory cheer in my head. They should have fed the cold, dominant thing that had taken the driver's seat, fueling it for another conquest. It was, after all, what she wanted. It was what the monster inside me was built for.
Instead, a sound bubbled up from my chest, startling both of us. A laugh. Not a smirk or a low, predatory chuckle. It was a real, genuine, slightly ragged laugh, the kind that came from a place of pure, unadulterated absurdity. It was the laugh of the old Samantha, the girl who would have found the sheer drama of this entire situation completely ridiculous.
