The next morning dawned bright and lazy—Sunday, the one day of the week when the mansion felt even more like a gilded trap. The staff had the day off, leaving just Stiles and Jackson rattling around in the vast space. Jackson was predictable as always: buried in his home office upstairs, poring over reports and prepping for Monday’s big meetings. He barely grunted a “good morning” before disappearing with his coffee, leaving Stiles to handle breakfast alone in the massive kitchen.

She hummed softly to herself, dressed in her tiny silk robe—barely covering her thighs, the thin material clinging to her curves with no bra or panties underneath. Her big tits swayed freely as she moved, nipples poking against the fabric, and her fat pussy felt slick already from dreams of Derek’s cock all night. She whisked eggs at the counter, the sizzle of bacon filling the air, when suddenly—a strong hug from behind.