Cammy's mind spiraled, torn between pleasure and panic. In front of her, Greg drove into her with relentless precision, his movements steady yet punishing, claiming her inch by inch.
Behind her, the cabin's door loomed—a fragile barrier between them and the two flashlights cutting through the darkness outside.
The voices were getting closer.
"They must be here. You saw the golf cart they used earlier, right? It's parked just by the roadside, and this is the only place nearby."
"Maybe they went somewhere else. The lights in the cabin are off. Maybe they went to the pond."
Cammy's heart pounded. She suddenly understood. Two workers from the mansion—the flashlights weren't random. They were searching. Looking for them. They were searching for them.
Her body tensed beneath Greg. "G-Greg, we have t-to go," she barely managed to whisper between stifled moans, the pleasure strangling her words.
