Oliver grinned widely, leaning in and parting her thighs. He positioned himself at Serena's entrance, yet instead of entering, he began to grind against her slick, sensitive folds, teasing her mercilessly.

"Ohhh… Ollie… please…" she whimpered, her voice breaking as her hips lifted instinctively, urging him forward. "Don't tease me… I can't take it anymore… Please, put it in…"

Finally, Oliver obliged. With one smooth, deliberate motion, he pushed his dick inside her pussy, her wetness making every inch a seamless fit. She let out a long, trembling moan, her hands gripping the sheets as he started to move, his pace steady but gradually increasing. With each thrust, her cries grew louder, filling the room.

"Ohh! Ahh… Ollie… yes… you're so deep… so hard inside me!" she moaned, her voice thick with pleasure.

Oliver leaned over her, his breath warm against her skin, each thrust deliberate as he drove his dick deeper, feeling her pussy tighten around his dick. The bed creaked with the intensity, adding to the sounds of their bodies joining in rhythm. He gripped the headboard for leverage, increasing his speed and force, making her whole body rock with each powerful thrust.

"Ah! Ah! Yes… just like that!" she shrieked, her voice climbing higher, her fingers digging into the sheets. "Too… too deep… but don't stop… don't… stop…"

Oliver's pace grew relentless, and her moans turned into incoherent gasps, her body arching to meet each of his thrusts. "Oh… ohhh… ahhh! Ollie… I'm… I'm going to—!"

"Yes… yes, me too… I'm close," Oliver growled, each thrust bringing him nearer to the edge.

"Yes… yes… inside… fill me up," she moaned, her own body trembling beneath him as he climaxed, a surge of heat filling her.

Finally spent, Oliver slumped forward, his head resting on her chest, his breath mingling with her own heavy pants. He could feel her racing heartbeat beneath his cheek, the warmth of her body surrounding him. His member was still nestled within her, their bodies intertwined, connected in the aftermath.

White droplets of his cum slowly began to slip out of her pussy, pooling between them, a testament to their shared moment. Oliver's body relaxed on top of her, his weight resting gently against her, feeling the rise and fall of her chest beneath him. They lay there, warm, content, wrapped in each other's embrace as they drifted in the quiet, blissful aftermath.

For a moment, silence. Only the faint rise and fall of Serena's chest beneath him.

Then, her voice — light, teasing, the same playfulness that had started it all.

"Who was it again," she murmured, drawing lazy circles in the air with one finger, her other hand resting on his spent dick, "who said he was too tired to stand? You had quite the energy hidden in you, didn't you?"

"Huh~ Did I?" Oliver muttered with a grin. He raised his head just enough to graze her nipple with his teeth, speaking against her skin. "Guess your massage worked a little too well."

Serena squealed, half laughing, half flinching. "Ah—! You're such a sweet-talking devil."

But before she could finish her laugh—

The door burst open.

The sound slammed through the air like thunder.

Isolde stood framed in the doorway.

Her face was calm — too calm — but her eyes were glacial. A cold, invisible pressure rolled out from her, and the air in the room seemed to freeze.

Oliver's heart dropped into his stomach. Oh, hell… in the moment, I ignored Serena's warning. But now that she's here—

He swallowed hard. —I might actually die.

And how could he argue otherwise?

He was naked.

He was lying on another woman's chest.

His teeth had been on Serena's nipple.

Serena's hand was still on his soft, cum-slick dick.

The picture spoke for itself.

"I-It's not what it looks like!" Serena blurted, her voice cracking under the weight of Isolde's stare.

"Oh?" Isolde's tone was quiet, almost curious. "Then what is it, exactly?" Her eyes dropped — once — to Serena's hand.

Serena realized too late and snatched it back as if burned. "I-I can explain!"

"Can you?" Isolde stepped inside and, with terrifying composure, closed the door behind her. The latch clicked — soft, final.

Oliver's instincts screamed to speak, to do something. "Isolde," he said quickly, "it's not her fault. I was the one who—who forced it."

Her gaze slid to him. The calmness in her eyes was worse than anger; it was the stillness before a storm. "Is that so?"

The weight of her presence pressed down on him until he dropped his eyes. Whether it was guilt or sheer intimidation, he couldn't tell. His throat felt dry, his pulse unsteady.

A long silence.

Then — she crossed the floor slowly, each step deliberate, measured.

Oliver and Serena sat on the edge of the bed, their legs folded beneath them, hands in their laps, heads bowed like chastised children before a mother's wrath. Except this was no scolding; this was judgment.

And they weren't innocent.

They were adults — flushed, naked, guilty — sitting beneath the shadow of the woman who'd just caught them in the act.

The silence in the room was suffocating.

Oliver and Serena sat frozen, waiting for Isolde's judgment — or their execution.

Then, just as the weight of dread became unbearable, Isolde spoke.

"How," she said coolly, "could you two possibly leave me out of the fun?"

"...Huh?"

The word left both Serena and Oliver's mouths at the same time. They blinked up at her, eyes wide in disbelief.

Isolde sighed, running a hand through her hair as if she were the one inconvenienced. "There I was, running myself ragged all night, chasing after that girl and making sure she didn't wander off — all because you," she pointed at Oliver, "claimed you were too busy to leave the inn during business hours."

Her tone dripped with sarcasm. "And here you are, proving me wrong. Apparently, you weren't that busy after all."

"Uh… I can explain," Oliver managed, voice weak.

"Explain?" Isolde folded her arms, taking a step closer. "Please, enlighten me. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've been very productive in my absence."

Serena tried to speak, her voice trembling. "It's not— it's not what it looks like!"

"Oh really?" Isolde said, eyebrow arched. "Because it looks exactly like what it looks like."

Serena fumbled for words. "I just— I was trying to help him relax—"

"Oh, I can tell," Isolde interrupted smoothly. "You must be very good at helping people relax."

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Look, I— I didn't mean for it to happen like this—"

"Oh, spare me," Isolde cut him off, waving a hand. "What really bothers me isn't that you two did it. It's that you did it without me."

Both Serena and Oliver froze.

"What?" they said in unison.

"You heard me." Isolde's tone was sharp but teasing, the faintest smile playing at her lips. "I leave for one night — one — and suddenly you two decide to start a private party without sending me an invitation."

Oliver blinked. "Wait… are you… angry because we didn't include you?"

Isolde gave him a deadpan look. "Very good, Oliver. I see your brain still works after all that exertion."

Serena leaned toward him, whispering through the corner of her mouth, "Is she seriously mad because we left her out?"

"How should I know?" Oliver muttered back. "I've never understood her."

Serena shrank slightly, still clutching the sheets. "We really didn't mean—"

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't." Isolde's tone softened just a fraction, though her expression stayed sharp. "But honestly, Oliver… I leave you alone for one day. One day! And you immediately go running into another woman's arms. You couldn't wait for me?"

Oliver opened his mouth, then shut it again. "I— uh— that's—"

She cut him off with a look. "Don't even try."

Serena and Oliver exchanged a helpless glance.

"Isolde," Oliver began hesitantly, "you're… not going to kill us, right?"

"Kill you?" Isolde tilted her head, pretending to think. "Why should I?"

They both exhaled in relief — until she added, "But we will be having a little talk about loyalty later."

Serena blinked. "Loyalty?"

"Yes, loyalty." Isolde's tone was flat but her eyes gleamed. "Because clearly, someone here has a… flexible definition of it."

Oliver slumped, running a hand through his hair. "So… we're not in trouble?"

"Oh, you're in trouble," Isolde said, her lips curving into a faint smirk. "Just not in the way you're expecting."

Oliver sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "So… we're not in trouble?"

"Oh, you're definitely in trouble," Isolde replied, a faint smirk curving her lips. "Just not in the way you're expecting."

Before Oliver could process that, Isolde gave him a light push, sending him sprawling backward onto the bed.

"H-Hey! What are you—"

"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips, her smirk widening into something far more mischievous. "I'm going to make this little thing"—her fingers wrapping around his limp dick—"work the entire night until I'm satisfied."

Oliver's face turned pale. "N-No… please, I'm out of energy! I'm serious! If I go again, I'll die of exhaustion!"

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