He stopped the second photo and stood.
“Up.”
I stood. My knees were red. Spit shone on my chin. My cunt was a wet open problem I could not close with a look. Trent pocketed the phone, picked up the laptop, and walked out of his father’s office like the call had been the only thing that happened in that room.
I followed because the photos were in his pocket and because I was done finishing in a bathroom.
His room was at the end of the hall. Smaller than the master. A bed that still looked like a son’s. He shut the door. He did not lock it. Grant was in Dallas. The lock was a joke.
Trent sat on the edge of the mattress and unlocked the phone. He turned it. The first still: my p***y, close, the skirt a frame, slick catching the den light. Then the second: my mouth wrecked, t**s heavy, th
