The heart monitor continued its steady beep, but the air in the room was charged—thick with tension, lust, and unspoken dread. I sat beside Gabriela on the edge of Diaz's bed, my hand enveloping hers, my Hand of Arousal pulsing with dark energy, flooding her veins with uncontrollable desire. Gabriela's breath hitched, her dark eyes glazing over as the heat spread through her, her pussy throbbing, her nipples hardening beneath her robe.
But then—
Her gaze snapped to Diaz.
Guilt slammed into her like a freight train.
"N-No—!" she gasped, yanking her hand away from mine as if burned. Her body trembled, her fingers clutching the bedsheet, her voice breaking.
"I—I can't—! Not here—! Not like this—!" She glanced at Diaz, her son—helpless, broken, unable to speak—and shame flooded her, drowning the lust that still burned inside her.
The door creaked open.
