“Your house, it’s alive again,” John said, gesturing towards the vibrant plants near the window—Cheyenne’s doing. Being filled again with the cock Erin had used on him felt wonderful. Cheyenne set a pace, both deliberate and caring, ensuring that each movement was met with an eagerness that matched her own. Gratitude swelled within him, warm and overwhelming. Silently, she took his hand and led him toward the living room, where the morning light painted the walls in amber hues. He laughed when they did, nodded when he caught enough to react, his skin prickling beneath their glances, each brush of their voices stoking the fire inside him. “Uh-huh,” he managed, the words barely more than a rasp. Larry took her hand and let her guide him to her. A silence stretched between them, a vast desert that seemed impossible to cross. The doorbell would ring soon, and Larry would have to face John with nothing but his wits and the hope that his secrets remained his own.