He's all over her. They're on the ground, writhing against each other. Hands everywhere. And you can't believe how hot it is. The man that saved your sister, Hell, the man that you almost drunkenly FUCKED, is rolling around with Krupinski of all people.
And you just can't hate her for it. She's just like him, with the goddamn attitude. Hell, that's half the reason you paid attention to his shenanigans. He was just so like her. And seeing them now... seeing him, and her, together. Goddamn. You wish it was you in there. With either of them. Fuck, with both of them. It'd be just like training, when Krupinski would bring some cocksure groundpounder back, and you'd wring them dry together.
And those thoughts, together with the incredibly enticing show you're getting... it's got you wetter than you've been in months. You just can't help yourself, sliding one hand up under your uniform shirt, and sending the other further south. You slip a few fingers inside the waistband of your panties, and fuckdammnit you can't think straight.
Slamming yourself to the ground, you tear your panties off, getting down to business right as they do. He's beginning to slam into her, and they're too distracted to notice as you start panting. They're fucking with relentless abandon, and your fingers are echoing them. One hand is working around the top of your slit, while your other is pistoning in and out, matching their rhythm. Your tempo increases with theirs, and you start to lose yourself, everything going white.
You shudder to a climax right with them, and find yourself gasping for breath in the corner of the kitchen, while they simultaneously light cigarrettes, and try to blow smoke in each other's faces.