Immediately.”
Marissa arrived in an oversized vintage denim jacket and red lipstick bold enough to count as a warning sign. She thought coldly. “It’s called strategy, Bailey. She had earbuds in and was bobbing her head to her own soundtrack. “Do you want a ride?” she offered. This one would be even more degrading than the last. “Imagine you are in my bedroom,” she whispered, her voice husky. “But thanks for your help.”
They sat together on the plush couch, the quiet of the empty house wrapping around them like a blanket. The boys hesitated, stunned, then shuffled away from the house, their shoulders sagging under the weight of rejection. “Cum for me,” she begged, her voice now a sham. Her hair was styled in loose waves that fell around her shoulders. She threw an arm around his shoulders and said, “You’re with me, it looks like.”
Lauren, of course, made a grand show of it.
