Morning light sliced through the frost-laced garden like a guilty blade, but Elara barely felt the cold. All she could feel was the sticky, shameful mess still leaking from her well-f****d cunt. Kaelen’s thick c*m had dried in crusty trails down her inner thighs overnight, mixing with her own slick in a filthy reminder of how thoroughly he had ruined her. She walked beside Lyra with trembling legs, every step making her swollen folds rub together, sending fresh sparks of unwanted pleasure straight to her c**t.
She couldn’t meet Lyra’s eyes.
Every time those innocent emerald eyes turned toward her, Elara’s p***y clenched hard around nothing, remembering how Kaelen—Lyra’s own father—had bent her over the library ladder last night and f****d her raw. His massive c**k had stretched her tight
