Emily didn't hesitate. She quickly grabbed the stack of plates Freya had prepared, her fingers trembling as she clutched them to her chest. She didn't look at me.
She didn't look at her sister. She just ran, bolting out of the kitchen like her ass was on fire, her dress still slightly askew, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The door swung shut behind her, leaving me alone with Freya, the scent of Emily's arousal still thick in the air.
My cock ached, straining painfully against my pants, my fingers still glistening with Emily's wetness. I brought them to my lips, sucking them clean, one by one, my eyes never leaving Freya's.
The taste of Emily lingered on my tongue—sweet, musky, intoxicating. Freya's gaze darkened as she watched me, her lips parting slightly, her breath hitching almost imperceptibly. She wasn't immune to this. Not even close.
"Jack," she said, her voice a low, velvety command, "bring those dishes with you."
