The farmhouse kitchen light was harsh at three in the morning, the kind that made every stain and shadow look guilty. Elena stood barefoot on the cold tile, still wearing nothing but the collar and the plug Luca had shoved back in after round two. c*m had dried in flaky patches on her inner thighs; more leaked slow and thick every time she shifted. She didn’t wipe it. Liked feeling marked, sloppy, used.
Matteo leaned against the counter, arms crossed, phone dark now but the sent message still burning between them. Come and watch. Luca and Nico flanked her like sentries, c***s soft but heavy against their thighs, ready to harden the second she gave them reason.
She reached for the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, drank half in one long swallow. A trickle escaped the corner of her mou
