Derek wrenched himself upright at dawn, sweat cooling on his back. His phone read 5:17 AM—hours before his usual alarm. Lydia mumbled something unintelligible into her pillow as he dressed with jerky movements, his cock already half-hard at the memory of Stiles’s moans echoing through the hallway. The front door clicked shut louder than necessary as he left for office even before sunrise.

Stiles hummed as she painted her toenails candy-apple red, the morning sun glinting off her bare shoulders. Scott had left for golf hours ago, and Lydia’s texts about "errands" had been suspiciously vague. Perfect. She stretched like a cat, savoring the ache between her thighs—proof of last night’s performance. The shower beckoned.