Strong arms lifted Stiles—Peter scooping her legs, Derek supporting her back—her naked body limp and trembling between them. Sand clung to her thighs, mixing with sticky traces of chili sauce and cum. Scott trailed behind, wiping a smear of mango rice from Stiles’s trembling chin with a rough thumb. "Look at this mess," Derek muttered, his gaze tracing the angry red welts around her asshole.

Stiles whimpered—every shift in their grip jolting pain through her bruised hips. Tears traced clean paths down her dirty cheeks. "Hurts," she whispered hoarsely, her throat raw from screaming. Yet… beneath the sting… a slick drip betrayed her—her swollen pussy glistening, still leaking coconut custard onto Derek’s forearm.