Kiara a touch too stiff, her cheeks still faintly flushed.
Lor too wide-eyed, his hands gripping his knees a little too tightly.
But Mira said nothing.
She walked in, crouched gracefully, and set the tray down between them—two delicate plates.
One with slices of fluffy cake, the other stacked with golden cookies, the scent of sugar and vanilla flooding the room, mingling with the fading musk of their earlier acts.
She moved to the window next, pushing it open wider with a practiced flick, letting a rush of cool evening air sweep in, dispersing the sticky heat still clinging to the room, the wind chimes outside tinkling softly.
Kiara didn't move, her icy blue eyes fixed on the tray, her thighs pressed together under her skirt, her pussy still pulsing faintly, betraying her calm facade.
Lor's cock gave one final twitch, hidden beneath his pants, the memory of her taste, her moans, her slick heat still burning in his mind.
