The side of her lips pulled up when she saw me and she pressed harder into him. So this was the Pixie. She was nothing like a pixie. She had luscious black hair that was artfully styled atop her head or at least it must have been at a point. It had been pulled out of its hold in the throes of s*x. Her red dress was only a flimsy see-through satin with a slit high up her left leg that was wedged between his.
I hated her.
I hated the hands she had on him.
I hated his hand on her waist.
God, I never felt so foolish as I did then staring at them joined together.
“Is this the new w***e, my lord?” She sneered, her hands still on him, her eyes glaring daggers at me from his embrace. His embrace.
“She is not a w***e,” He said gruffly, untangling himself from her but she held on like a
