Stella’s key turns in the lock sooner than either of you expected.
The front door opens with its familiar soft click, followed by the rustle of a paper bag and the light scuff of her shoes on the entryway tile.
She is humming under her breath, the chocolate tart balanced carefully in one hand, when she steps into the dining room and freezes.
You are still standing naked in front of the table, breasts bare, thighs spread, the wet gleam of your p***y on full display.
Drew is still seated, his foot no longer under the table, his face a careful mask that does nothing to hide the dark flush rising along his neck.
The spoon you threw lies on the floor between you. Your discarded shirt and shorts form a small, damning pile near the empty chair.
Stella’s eyes go wide. The paper bag slips
