The minutes dragged on slow and heavy in that stuffy bedroom, like time itself had gotten tangled up in the messy sheets and the thick air. The three of them—Devon, Serena, and Eleanor—lay there in a loose pile, bodies worn out from everything that had happened.
Their breathing was deep and even, the kind that comes after hours of wild, sweaty action. Sweat had dried on their skin, leaving it sticky and cool. Faint smells hung around—musky sex, salty cum, sweet perfume all mixed up.
The bed was a wreck: pillows knocked to the floor, covers twisted like ropes, dark spots here and there from all the fluids.
Outside the door, the party sounds had died down completely. No more loud music thumping through the walls. No more laughs or chatter from the guests.
The whole celebration had fizzled out quiet and awkward because the star of the show, Devon, was gone.
