—•TRISTAN•—
When I hear June’s voice, I almost dismiss it as another trick of my mind—but it sounds too vivid, too real.
I’ve replayed her voice in my head a hundred times before, yet none of them have ever come close to this.
I snap my head toward the door, and my body freezes.
June is standing in my office doorway. Her hand is still on the door handle, her body frozen mid-step.
She’s clutching a folder to her chest like a shield, her knuckles white around the edges.
Her face has gone pale, drained of all colour, and her honey-brown eyes are wide as saucers, locked on me and Bianca.
She looks as though someone’s just thrown a bucket of cold water over her.
For one terrible, suspended moment, I don’t move.
Bianca is still on her knees between my legs, my c**k still in her mouth.
