The drive home from the agency was suffocatingly silent. The evening lights blurring past the car windows as Scott gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. Stiles sat beside him in the passenger seat, the black robe from the studio swapped for her red mini dress from earlier—though now it felt tainted, riding up her thighs, sticky remnants of the day’s debauchery still clinging to her skin beneath. Cum had dried in places, her pussy and ass sore and leaking faintly, a constant reminder. She shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Scott’s stony profile, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road.

They pulled into their apartment garage without a word. Scott killed the engine, but didn’t move. Stiles pouted, her full pink lips turning down, huge eyes filling with confusion. “Hubby… what’s wrong? You’ve been quiet the whole way home.”