"Baby," I murmured, my lips grazing her neck, my teeth nipping the tender skin. "I like the burn."
I lowered the phone, angling the shot just right—her chest heaving, nipples taut under my palm, the crotchless panties twisted in her fingers like a dare. The call connected.
Emily snatched the phone, flipping to selfie mode while I loomed behind the rear lens, a shadow with a front-row seat to her unraveling. Now I was standing between Emily and the mirror, with Emily talking to her husband with a selfie camera.
Emily's lips split into a slow, wet smile, her tongue tracing the curve of her upper lip before she purred into the phone: "Hi, Honey…" A beat. Her gaze flicked to mine—dark, knowing—before dragging back to the screen.
