The manor’s corridors felt tighter that evening, as if the ancient stone walls themselves were closing in to squeeze the truth from Elara’s body. Lanterns burned hotter, casting sharp, accusatory light across the frost-laced windows. Portraits leaned forward greedily, their painted eyes hungry for scandal. Elara moved with careful, measured steps, but her thighs trembled with every motion. Her p***y was still swollen and tender from Kaelen’s brutal f*****g the night before—Lyra’s own father had pinned her down and pumped her full of thick, forbidden c*m until it leaked out in messy strings every time she shifted.
She could still feel it: the heavy, warm load deep in her womb, slowly seeping out to coat her folds and soak into the thin fabric of her gown. Her c**t throbbed constantly, a sh
