Tracy was in a similar state, breathing heavy and spent too, but she was too pissed off to care. She hopped right off his d**k, scrambled away from him and barked, "Get the f**k out!"
The room still reeked of s*x when Tracy shoved Dean out the door, c*m still leaking down her inner thighs.
She stood in the doorway, trembling, naked except for the shredded scraps of tank top clinging to her shoulders like battle flags.
“Get the f**k out,” she hissed again, her voice raw. “Now.”
Dean pulled his robe closed without meeting her eyes, the knife already folded and pocketed. Guilt and genuine remorse washed over him. He paused at the door, shoulders hunched, devastated by the look on her face.
“I’m sorry, Tracy. I just—” he tried again, desperate to explain himself.
What could he say tho
