“Not until I talk to Larry.”
The others nodded, a silent pact forming in the dimly lit room. How much of this was your doing, Larry?”
The question, unexpected and kind, cut through the silence like the first rays of dawn. “Nobody breathes a word,” Cheyenne finally said, her voice steady yet soft, a leader asserting control over the girls and the situation. He watched, entranced, as the dip of Cheyenne’s spine became his canvas, his lips tracing a slow, worshipful path over the curve of her lower back. Larry undressed and lay down on the bed, he felt a rush of vulnerability mixed with excitement. Larry’s gaze flicked to the throw pillows, neatly fluffed, then to the photographs that now held pride of place on the mantle. Her fingers brushed against the fabric of her halter top and she felt her hardened nipples, self-awareness mingling with anticipation. He reached her asshole, and once again she stiffened, causing her cheeks to clinch together. The air was thick with dust motes dancing in the slanting light; a silent testament to
