I dragged Jennifer behind me, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, her fingers clawing at my arm like she was afraid I'd slip away.
The air was thick with the scent of her arousal, the musky, intoxicating perfume of her need clinging to her skin, her dress still hiked up around her waist, her pussy glistening and swollen from her own desperate touch.
She was dripping—for me, for the thought of what was coming, for the filthy promise of what I'd do to her.
The door to Nathalie's room was cracked open—just a sliver, but enough to see the flicker of movement inside, the soft, rhythmic sounds of wet flesh slapping against flesh, the whimpers of a woman lost in her own lust.
I didn't knock.
I shoved the door open with a sharp, decisive push, the hinges groaning as it swung wide.
And there she was.
