I couldn’t look at the kitchen island without getting wet.
Every time I walked past it, I remembered how Mason had bent me over and f****d me senseless while my husband’s expensive plates sat neatly on the shelves above us. His c*m was still leaking out of me hours later, a constant filthy reminder of what I had done.
I spent the rest of the day in a haze of guilt and unbearable arousal. I tried to write. I tried to read. I even tried to call Lucas. But every single thing I did led me back to Mason, his deep voice, his cruel grey eyes, the way his thick c**k had stretched and ruined me.
By evening, I was a mess. I had changed my panties three times. My p***y was swollen, sensitive, and constantly leaking. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
When the sun began to set, I went upstairs t
