Kael dropped to his knees beside Elira like a man possessed.
She didn't resist.
Couldn't.
Her thighs parted automatically, more instinct than choice. Her cunt was red and ruined, twitching with aftershocks, still full of slick from Nyra's vegetable assault. Her whole body reeked of shame and cum and sweat—but Kael didn't hesitate.
He wanted this.
He needed this.
He grabbed her hips with shaking hands and pushed inside in one brutal thrust, burying himself in the mess she'd become.
Elira screamed again.
But it wasn't pain.
Not this time.
She gasped—sharp, high—and her hands clawed the floor as Kael fucked her the same way he had during the festival. The same position. The same pace. But this wasn't the same woman. This was a broken mirror version, cracked and fogged with humiliation.
"F-Fuck," Kael hissed, pounding into her like a man trying to erase the other scents from her body. "You feel even better now…"
Elira sobbed beneath him, her hands slipping on the wet floor.
