Mark’s gift car moved in slowly, quiet and smooth. Its light blue body looked almost like shallow ocean water catching the lights as it rolled forward.It sat extremely low to the ground, longer than any supercar most people there had ever seen, with a stretched rear that gave it a unique, sleek look. There were no big spoilers or flashy parts; the design was clean, almost simple, but expensive in a way that was hard to explain. Even standing still, it felt heavy with presence.Inside the hall, the elites stopped mid-clap. Outside, the commoners stood frozen, jaws dropped at the moving masterpiece.Someone whispered, "No way... is that a Pagani Huayra Codalunga?"Lady Clarice gasped, her breath catching. "A Codalunga? Only five were ever made. I didn't think a single one existed in this country!"Mr. Adams beamed, his chest swelling with pride. "There wasn’t one—until I had it flown in. This was meant to be a recovery gift for my dau

Mark's breath came in hard as Alice stroked him; he could feel himself twitch against her hand every few seconds. He needed her. "Come here, baby girl..." he murmured, angling his arm to invite her closer. She adjusted her seatbelt before leaning over the center console and lowering her head into his lap. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock and ran her tongue over it. He moaned deeply, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "God, baby... fuck..." With a smile on her lips, she lowered her head further, taking him deeper inside her warm mouth. She began sucking his cock while her hand held it steady against her lips. His moans grew louder as she played around, sucking faster, then slower, licking over the head and swirling around the shaft. Clearly, those online videos she had watched on how to give a blowjob were paying off. And honestly

"Remember when we used to sit here, freezing, just waiting for Mom to come home from her double shifts?" Rita murmured, her fingers tracing idle patterns through Mark’s hair. Mark gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah. We were pretty pathetic back then, weren't we?" They were sitting on the back porch stairs—the same way they had a thousand times before. Rita sat a step above him, and Mark sat on the lower step, his head resting between her knees. It was their "worry ritual," a habit born from years of staring into the dark, waiting for their mother to return from working herself to the bone. "I guess we were," Rita whispered, but her laughter died quickly. Her tone shifted, turning heavy. "Have you ever... thought about Dad?" Mark’s jaw tightened. "Why would I? The bastard ghosted us. I don’t even know what he looks like." "That's because you were barely a year old whe

With a bomb mine under his foot and Alice hanging over a tub of acid, Mark's mind raced. He had been caught so easily, like a mouse lured to a trap with a piece of cheese. He looked up at his captor. The man was rolling a dark, shriveled raisin between his thumb and forefinger, staring at it with the kind of genuine affection most people reserved for a newborn. "Did you know," the Reaper whispered, "that a raisin is just a grape that survived the fire? The sun tries to kill it, but it just gets tougher. Sweeter. Smaller. That's what I'm doing for you, Mark. I'm taking away your time, your options, your 'water'... I want to see if there's anything sweet left in you when the timer hits zero." He popped the raisin into his mask and smiled. "Forty seconds. Don't disappoint the sun." Maybe it was the pressure, or the sheer terror, but Mark's leg began to tremble over the plate.<