She shrugs and goes to inspect a miniature mountain of pine cones as I walk back to the cabin, wondering if Kinsley is licking her wounds or sharpening her claws.
The former makes me wince with discomfort. The latter makes me annoyingly hard.
I swipe the keycard, the lock goes green, and the door swings inward without much of a sound. I keep it ajar as I head towards the bathroom to rummage through the medicine cabinet.
The sound of heavy breathing makes me pause. Then I clock one leg hanging over the edge of the sofa.
It’s Kinsley. Her head is thrown back against the armrest, her eyes are closed, and her chest rises and falls erratically, one strap of her dress dangling carelessly off her left shoulder.
She bites down on her lower lip as her fingers play her slit.
My c**k stands at
