The door clicked shut behind Kiara, and Lor bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, his breath ragged from more than just the climb.
His head spun with the day's chaos—the orgy's fevered blur, Nellie's soft surrender, the pink spirit's haunting touch—but Kiara's "dinner game" had left him painfully hard, his cock straining against his trousers with every step.
He slammed his bedroom door, collapsing onto the bed, face buried in the pillow as he muffled a groan.
Relief, tension, and raw need battled within him, a storm he couldn't tame.
He wanted to laugh, to scream, to unravel.
Instead, he muttered into the fabric, "Gods above… what do I even do now?"
His eyes flicked to the window, catching a strange shimmer—a ripple of pink light, fleeting but unmistakable.
A silhouette hovered, curved and wrong, her glowing presence searing into his vision.
The spirit.
His heart leapt into his throat, fear spiking sharp—her unnatural, witch-born essence chilling his bones.
