Taboo's voice purred through his consciousness; a velvet knife twisted in silk. "Master, wake up. Your family approaches. And wouldn't you prefer they witness this version of you rather than the one dreaming of bending Margaret over that countertop while Charlotte watches, trembling and shamefully wet?"
The jolt was physical, electric. Fuck. He'd been there in his head, thinking and mind-fucking, seconds from sinking into Margaret's tight heat while Charlotte's dark eyes devoured them both, fingers buried in her own panties—just a dream, yet his cock throbbed against the stiff pajama pants, a silent, demanding witness.
Margaret? Charlotte? Child's play. The real venom coiled deeper: Linda, fresh from their own violent intimacy, her scent still ghosting his skin… then Emma, Sarah, Ms. Chen—a harem of forbidden flesh tangled in his sheets while his family slept downstairs.
