The following evening, Sophia could barely focus on her chores. Every movement reminded her of the night before — the delicious ache deep in her core, the faint bruises on her hips from Victor’s grip, and the dried traces of his c*m that had leaked out of her all day despite her best efforts to clean up. She was sore, marked, and shamefully wet again by the time the staff left.
She waited in her quarters exactly as instructed: naked, on her knees in the center of the bed, thighs spread wide, hands behind her back. The door was unlocked.
Victor entered first, his presence filling the room like a storm. Behind him, to her horror and instant arousal, walked Damien — 25, athletic, tattooed arms visible under a fitted black t-shirt, messy dark hair, and a cruel, amused smirk already playing o
