Marcus's presence hit me like a second wave of heat, his frame filling the doorway before he stepped inside, closing it with a soft but final click.
He was younger than Victor, maybe late thirties, with a lean build honed from marathons or something equally disciplined, dark hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly commanding.
His eyes, sharp and assessing, locked onto me as I knelt there on all fours, Victor's c**k buried deep inside me, stretching my p***y with every subtle shift of his hips. The air thickened, charged with the scent of sweat, whiskey, and raw anticipation.
I should have felt exposed, vulnerable... hell, terrified, but the way Victor's hand tightened in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat, it all twisted into something intoxicating.
'Look at her,
