Continued from Season Two, Chapter One
Amy’s Point of View
My new bull looked at me when I opened the door.
He was tall enough that the hallway light sat on his shaved head. Lean where Wes was thick. Long arms, long hands, a black shirt open at the collar with the sleeves pushed up his forearms, and skin darker at the knuckles than anywhere else I could see.
He smelled of grilled steak and something sweeter dying under it—cologne applied hours ago, most of it gone.
His eyes came down from my mask to my mouth, my breasts, the shine of Wes’s cum still leaking from me, drying on my inner thighs, and he made the return journey without hurrying.
I knew his interrogation method. I used it in depositions.
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