The front door closed behind them with a heavy, final sound. Rain still hammered the roof, but inside the house the air was warm and still, scented faintly with wood, leather, and something darker—his cologne clinging to the walls. Elena stood barefoot on the polished floor, blouse and bra still crumpled in the car, skirt hiked around her waist, thighs sticky with his cum. Every step had forced more of it to leak from her used pussy, trailing warm down the inside of her legs.

Damien did not speak at first. He simply watched her, dark eyes moving over the mess he had already made of her. Then he reached out, hooked two fingers into the waistband of her skirt, and yanked it down. The fabric pooled at her ankles. She stepped out of it without being told. Completely naked now, she stood under the soft hallway light, nipples still tight, pussy lips swollen and glistening, a thin line of white cum slowly sliding toward her knee.