THIRD PERSON POV
The pouch returned to the host. His gloved hand swirled the wine in his glass, the ruby liquid catching the firelight, before he nodded for the next draw.
Thalyra, still flushed from straddling her man, leaned forward, greedy for another taste of danger. She plucked a card, her laugh low and sultry as she read aloud: “Command your man to use your ass, here, now.”
Gasps swept the table—shock, hunger, disbelief. Thalyra only smirked, violet mask glittering. She leaned over the table, palms flat on the wood, presenting herself like a queen demanding worship. Her man didn’t hesitate—he bent her, lifted her skirts, and pushed in hard. The cry she let out was raw, guttural, shaking the walls. The table rocked with the force of his thrusts, her nails clawing deep into the clot
