The lake house sat at the end of a long, private dirt road—tall pines shielding it from the world, the water black and still under a moonless sky. No staff, no neighbors, no interruptions. Victor had called it a “team retreat,” but the word felt thin the moment Delilah stepped through the door Friday evening and saw the wide stone fireplace already crackling, Elena pouring three glasses of red, the master bedroom door standing open at the far end of the hall.
They began by the fire.
Delilah knelt on the thick rug between them, naked from the waist up, skirt pooled around her knees. Victor and Elena flanked her on the low sofa—Victor’s mouth claiming the right breast with possessive, milking squeezes; Elena’s tongue swirling slow, teasing circles on the left until milk beaded and sprayed
