Marcus landed at 9:14 p.m.
I was still on the dining table when the text came through. Adrian had left forty minutes earlier. The plug was seated deep. His last load was warm around it, mixed with the two from the nights before. My skirt was still bunched at my waist. The contracts were signed and stacked in a neat pile beside my hip, one corner faintly stained. I hadn’t cleaned any of it.
On the ground. Be home in an hour. You okay?
I stared at the message, cunt throbbing, and typed back with steady fingers.
Fine. Just finishing up.
Adrian’s text arrived before I could stand.
He’s landing. Don’t take it out. Send the pic. Then let him f**k you with it in. I want him sliding through all of it. If you wash anything out before he does, he gets the folder the second he walks through the
