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And when he spilled into her, it was with a sensation so profound, so all-consuming, that his world narrowed to the point of their connection, a singularity of release that tore a strangled cry from his chest. Larry watched as Latisha stood up, her striking figure demanding attention. Larry couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of liberation as the night wore on. Stepping closer, she reached out to adjust the collar of his shirt, her fingertips grazing his neck. It was in this space, this liminal moment of raw exposure, that Cheyenne saw beyond the facade of the grieving widower. In the bedroom, Auzia wasted no time. She paused at the table’s edge, close enough to feel the chill from Larry’s bottle brush against her skin. “Oh fuck!” escaped from Cheyenne’s mouth. “Watching is almost as fun as actually fucking him,” Cheyenne piped in. The warmth of Cheyenne’s breath cascaded down the shell of Larry’s ear, a whisper that tickled and teased, leaving ripples of desire in its wake.