The room was already thick with breath and sweat. Rumi knelt between his thighs, hair clinging to her flushed face, mouth stuffed full, throat working as he guided her in deep, steady pulses.
She moaned around him—messy, eager—lips stretched, drool glistening on her chin.
Then—click.
The door opened.
She froze.
He didn’t.
A rough thrust silenced her gasp. She swallowed around him, eyes wide, a whimper vibrating through her throat.
Boots stepped inside.
“Damn,” came the voice. Male. Low. Amused. “You two started without me?”
Rumi looked up, lips still wrapped around his shaft, blinking through the haze. The second man stood in the doorway, jacket half-off, eyes locked on her like a predator.
“You’re late,” she tried to say—but it came out as a muffled moan.
He stepped closer, already unbuckling, smirking as he dropped to one knee beside her.
“I’ll catch up.Ready for more?”
Rumi giggled.
“I was born ready.”