The next day dragged on forever for Derek. Work was a blur—spreadsheets, meetings, the usual CEO grind—but his mind kept wandering back to Stiles. That grinding session on the couch, her soaked pussy leaving his pants a mess, her promise of “lessons.” He felt guilty as hell, especially with Allison coming home late again, smelling like someone else’s aftershave. But the guilt mixed with this burning need, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. By nightfall, he was in bed next to her, staring at the ceiling, his phone on silent vibrate.

It buzzed. He grabbed it quick, heart jumping. Stiles’s name on the screen: “Come to my room. Now.”