The soft click of the door echoed behind them, sealing them into the dim room. The lights were low, the walls smooth and sterile, the air still — too still.
Ytrisia stepped forward, her heels clicking on cold stone. Her purple latex suit clung to every inch of her — thick, skintight, molded to her like a second skin. Her figure was mature, full, impossible to ignore. Hips wide, waist tight, breasts heavy and high, the latex catching the light as she moved. She looked around, slowly.
"This place…" Her voice was soft, almost casual. "Doesn't it feel too clean? Like someone wiped it down to hide something."
Behind her, Cruxius said nothing. He was staring. His eyes followed the way the suit hugged her ass, how her thighs pressed together. He breathed in — slowly, like he was trying to keep control — but he didn't hide what he was doing.
Then, quiet. "I'm sorry."
