Samantha hesitated for only a second — long enough for her eyes to flick toward the bed again. She saw Gabriela's bare shoulder, the way the sheet clung to her sweat-damp curves, the unmistakable way my hand disappeared under the fabric to rest possessively on Gabriela's hip.
She saw the slow, fresh trickle of cum that had leaked out from between Gabriela's thighs and was now staining the sheet in a new dark patch.
Samantha's throat worked visibly. She nodded once.
"Of course, sir. I'll take care of it right away."
She disappeared into the bathroom. We heard the rustle of fabric — her picking up my pants (still damp at the crotch), my shirt (soaked with Gabriela's squirt from the balcony), Gabriela's black lace panties (crusted and wet), her nightgown (crumpled and stained).
Gabriela buried her face deeper into the pillow, voice muffled and trembling.
