The pool house felt suspended in time, the storm outside a distant roar against the reinforced glass. Dawn was still hours away, but neither Marcus nor Elena made any move to leave. The daybed was a nest of tangled sheets and discarded towels, the air heavy with the intimate evidence of their night. Elena lay curled against Marcus’s side, her head on his shoulder, one leg thrown over his thigh. His c*m continued to leak slowly from her, a warm, sticky reminder that made her shift every few minutes, clenching instinctively to hold more of it inside.
Marcus’s fingers drew lazy patterns along her bare hip, dipping occasionally to trace the crease where her thigh met her body. The touch was absentminded, comforting. But Elena could feel the subtle tension in his muscles—the way his jaw flexed
