Stiles sauntered down the stairs naked as the day she was born, her massive tits bouncing with every step, fat ass jiggling from Derek’s final slap, and his thick cum still leaking out of her sore pink pussy, dripping down her inner thighs in sticky trails. She felt deliciously used, body aching in all the right places—pussy red and puffy from the punishment and pounding, nipples hard from the cool air. “Just a quick drink,” she murmured to herself, smirking at how risky this all was. The kitchen was around the corner, gleaming marble counters and fancy appliances screaming wealth. She rounded the bend—and froze.

Eli was there, leaning against the counter, chugging a glass of water like he owned the place. Tall, built like his dad but younger, fresher—dark hair tousled, college tee hugging his muscles, jeans low on his hips. He turned at the sound of her bare feet, eyes widening for a split second before narrowing into pure rage. Water glass slammed down, spilling over the edge.