Saki stopped just outside the bathroom door and turned to face me. Her cheeks were burning red. She glared up at me, trying to look angry, but the flush and the way her breathing still hadn't settled gave her away.
"Here," she said sharply, pointing at the door with one stiff finger.
I didn't step inside right away. Instead, I leaned in close, close enough that my chest almost brushed hers, and lowered my voice to a rough, quiet murmur only she could hear.
"Why don't you also come in?"
Saki's eyes widened. The glare faltered. For a second she just stared at me, the torn fabric of her pants still hanging open behind her, the soft cheeks of her ass and the still-wet rim of her asshole only partially hidden by the angle of her body. Her lips parted, but no immediate refusal came out.
The hallway was quiet; somewhere deeper in the house her husband was still putting away the mop and bucket. The risk hung heavy between us.
She swallowed, the blush spreading down her neck.
