Hailee's POV
The door creaked open slowly under my hand. The moment I stepped inside, the warmth of the room hit me—but it wasn't comforting. It was suffocating. Heavy. Thick with the sharp, unmistakable scent of sweat and sex.
I took one cautious step forward, the tray trembling in my hands, my gaze sweeping across the dimly lit room. The sound hit me first—wet, rhythmic. Low, breathy moans tangled with harsh, guttural whispers. Skin slapping against skin.
My brows furrowed. My heart skipped a beat. My gaze flicked up—confused, unprepared—and that's when I saw them. A woman, bent over the table, gripping the edge like her life depended on it. Her eyes were shut tight, mouth open in a silent cry. And behind her—thrusting into her with slow, deep rolls of his hips—was a young man. His hands gripped her hips like he owned her. Like he didn't care who saw.
