RISE OF THE SILVER WOLF
Through the gap, I could see them.
Richard, my husband, my mate, buried between pale thighs that weren't mine, thrusting in and out of her pussy like his life depends on it. Catherine's head thrown back against my pillows, her dark hair spilling across my sheets. The sheets I'd washed just yesterday, hung out to dry in the sun because Richard liked the way they smelled fresh.
I must have made a sound, a gasp, a whimper, something, because Richard's head snapped toward the door. Our eyes met.