No

The bedspread clung damply to her skin as she finally pushed herself upright, her whole body humming, legs unsteady. Cum still leaked steadily down her thighs, soaking the sheets beneath her, dripping in obscene little strings when she tried to move.

Jason lay flat on his back, one arm flung over his head, chest rising and falling heavily. His face was lost to the shadows, only the strong line of his jaw and the part of his lips visible in the dim light. Emily pulled a robe from the armoire—thick, white, far too big—slipping her arms into it and cinching it at the waist. The soft fabric brushed against her sore, swollen nipples, making her hiss softly.

Her legs trembled as she staggered to his side. She bent low, pressing a clumsy kiss to his mouth, tasting wine and salt and something that wasn’t quite familiar. She ignored it.

“I’ve gotta go clean up,” she whispered, voice still shaky, “but I’ll be back soon. Maybe we can… have some more fun if you’re up for it.”

He didn’t answer. His breath stayed heavy, his body still stretched wide with exhaustion.

Emily stumbled out into the hallway, robe swishing against her bare calves. Her thighs were tacky, the mess of him sliding down with every step. Her head swam with champagne haze and afterglow, with the almost surreal weight of what had just happened.

She found a bathroom easily—massive, gleaming, full of marble and chrome. The robe fell to the floor as she stepped into the shower, warm water sluicing over her body. She braced herself on the wall as the torrent began to wash her clean.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she watched thick white globs of sperm sliding out of her pussy, running down her thighs, swirling toward the drain. She gasped softly, pressing her forehead against the tile, amazed—and horrified—at how much there was. It just kept coming, spilling out with every shift of her hips.

Her pussy ached, stretched, sore in a way she hadn’t felt in years. She touched herself there briefly, just to confirm she was still real. That this had actually happened.

Sex with Jason hadn't been that great since way before Chloe was born, maybe ever. She'd definitely have to get him in the mood like that more often if that's how he reacted.

She wrapped her hair in a towel, cinched the robe again, and opened the bathroom door.

And froze.

Jason stood in the hall, not ten feet away. Still dressed in his clothes from the party, jacket draped over one arm, tie askew. He looked surprised to see her.

“There you are,” he said, exhaling. “I was starting to wonder where you’d gotten to.”

Her heart stopped.

Jason’s eyes flicked over her robe, the damp towel twisted on her head, the bare skin peeking at her calves. His brow furrowed, just faintly, before smoothing again.

“Sorry I took so long,” he said easily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Got held up with the head of the Berlin office. Guy doesn’t shut up. Just finally got away.”

Emily couldn’t breathe. Her chest rose and fell too fast.

Inside, chaos.

Oh my God. Oh God. What have I done. I fucked—no, no, don’t think it. Don’t say it. It was Jason. It was Jason. It had to be Jason. Right?

Jason reached for her hand, casual, warm, guiding her gently down the hallway.

“You’re going the wrong way,” he said, voice light. “Rooms are this way. C’mon.”

Her legs moved before her brain caught up. Her hand fit in his. Her pulse hammered against her throat.