Chike pulled out of Zara with a slow, wet slide. His cock glistened—thick shaft coated in her shine, veins still pulsing, the broad head flared and dark, a mix of their juices dripping from the tip. It bobbed heavily as he straightened up, looking even bigger slick and used. 

Zara collapsed back onto the couch, legs spread wide, fingers sliding lazily through her folds, eyes locked on us with that hungry gleam.

I was still on my knees, breathing hard, my own cock out and throbbing in my hand. The taste of them lingered on my tongue—salty, musky, overwhelming. 

Guilt crashed over me again, heavier this time. What the hell...