The air in the dimly lit chamber was thick with the scent of sweat, musk, and something darker—shame, maybe, or the electric thrill of surrender. Ada's body trembled as she let out a broken, breathy whimper, her fingers clawing at the sheets beneath her. "Y-yeah… Dexter…" Her voice cracked, her cheeks flushed with humiliation.
"Ruth's… right. How could you even stand to look at me like this? A filthy, used-up woman…" She shifted uncomfortably, her thighs pressing together as if trying to hide the evidence of her arousal. "I'm fine… Really. It—ah!—it doesn't itch much now…"
Ada's breath hitched, her back arching involuntarily as if my words alone could push her over the edge. Before she could answer, Ruth's voice cut through the tension, high and panicked.
