13: The Palace of Mujal (Part II) – NSFW

Chapter 13: The Palace of Mujal (Part II)

The Time: Present Day (720 AE)

The Place: The city of Tsimeda, Hameze Province, Saimr

Velnyr’s “tour” begins the moment they exit the (for lack of a better term) teleportation chamber.

Even though Ari is ostensibly the one clinging to her like a limpet, Velnyr’s other hand comes down to cover Ari’s wrist—not squeezing, but certainly resting firmly enough that the overwhelming strength disguised by those graceful fingers is readily apparent. Ari has the feeling if she tries to pull away that hand will trap her in place more effectively than any iron shackle.

Thus well and truly leashed, Ari heels obediently alongside her “owner” as they move out of the tall chamber and into a small vestibule closed off by an intimidatingly massive set of stone doors engraved with coiling serpents and stylized vines. As in the previous chamber, there are actual vines climbing over walls and up pillars, dark and woody and occasionally studded with pale little buds that glow weakly in the gloom. They don’t seem to need soil, or water, or sunlight, or… anything else to flourish here. Maybe they subsist on ambient magic alone…?

At a wave of Velnyr’s hand, the doors slowly swing open with a thunderous groan to admit them into the palace proper. And even though it seems the vestibule only disgorges into a long, empty hallway, Ari is immediately overwhelmed.

This place…! It doesn’t look real!

Velnyr glances down at her and seems quite satisfied to see Ari’s face slack with incredulous awe as they start down that wide corridor. She only barely catches it, because her eyes are glued to the ceiling overhead—if it can even be called that! High above, past a lattice of thick glass supported by bizarrely organic-looking branches of silver, is a night sky like Ari has never seen before. Outside, it is most definitely daytime, but inside the Palace of Mujal is a veritable black ocean of stars, clear and close and swirling with milky, glittering “clouds”. Celestial bodies the size of children’s kickballs surround the heart of this tableau: a beautiful representation of the Sun Unvanquished spitting out tongues of molten violet and bathing the walls below in its light.

“How…?” Ari starts, totally bewildered. What an incredible illusion. And sensible! If the False Sun’s light is discomfiting to Her Worship, why not do away with it entirely? There are no windows in this hall, or at least none that open to the outside world. Instead, the dark stone walls occasionally morph seamlessly into long sheets of crystal that shimmer with some innate luminance, or else floor-to-ceiling panels of deepest purple stained glass arranged in strange patterns that she can’t look at for very long without a headache coming on.

Everything she sees is absolutely saturated with magic. Even if she’s willing to accept that Velnyr might have crafted everything here purely on her own with nothing but raw materials and the numina at her fingertips, this palace—this whole city, probably!—still needs a consistent source of energy to maintain itself! Where is it all coming from? The Amnion on this side of the Worldrift can only support so much interference, Your Worship!

Except, when she engages her Aethersight, she finds that the Amnion here is stable but shockingly thin. She’d say it’s only to be expected, with so many artifacts on this side of the veil drawing on the Aether’s energy, but this gauziness isn’t the result of natural damage by way of amniotic strain. This sheer barrier is so uniform and flawless that it could only have been shaved down intentionally, stretched and reinforced carefully by an expert hand.

Ari’s heart quivers with unease. This is… she really has no words. Are there no limits to the queen’s power? Can Velnyr simply move the world according to her whims now? Ari might not be the most learned person, but never has she heard of a god manipulating the Amnion itself at such scale.

She’s only been conscious in Velnyr’s presence for… what, an hour? And somehow every passing minute reveals another new and horrifying stratum to her power.

Ari peeks up at Velnyr out of the corner of her eye, doing her level best not to let her disquiet show. Startlingly, she finds that Velnyr is already looking steadily back at her with an expression of uncharacteristic warmth, and also a touch of eagerness—like a cat with a prize catch, purring and flaunting in front of its owner. Has she just been staring at the side of Ari’s face this whole time?!

Though Ari is well aware of just how quickly those long legs can move, Velnyr has seemed content to stroll along at a snail’s pace, giving Ari plenty of time to ogle to her heart’s content. What does a divine queen need this useless nobody’s approval for??? Yes, yes, very impressive! You’ve gone and bent the laws of reality again! Truly the peak of your genius is unmatched in all the world! Can this humble servant be excused for a nap now?! She really needs some time alone to think!

Now that she’s aware of it, Velnyr’s gaze weighs upon her like an iron ballast as they walk. If she didn’t have a solid handhold, Ari suspects she’d be tripping all over herself. As a girl, she could only dream of her sahan paying her such close attention, looking at her with such unvarnished fondness. The protective coat of armor she’s fashioned her anger and hurt into is under unprecedented assault, leaving her dazed and off-kilter.

She’s still angry. Of course she’s still angry. It’s just… the gap between what she expected, what she thought she knew, and this… it grows vaster by the moment, until the merest glimpse of that yawning gap makes her dizzy. The woman who cast her out and the woman who now grasps her so tightly she couldn’t escape if she tried—how is it that they’re the same person?

Scrabbling desperately to keep her wits about her without offending her… host, Ari blurts out, “You really built all this yourself? In five years?”

Velnyr hums an affirmation. “In two months.”

Two—!!!

Ari feels faint. “The palace…?”

“The whole city.”

Her shock-and-awe meter is officially blown. Yeah. Sure. Build a whole fucking magical city in two months, why the fuck not. Natural laws? Who needs those?

It’s with the air of that proud blood-smeared cat that Velnyr guides her through this wing of the palace. They pass through an impressive atrium with a towering stone waterfall at its center that feeds into a complex indoor waterway that ferries pale pink and purple water lilies and all matter of odd little fish down crystal-clear burbling streams. Down every hall she sees, around every corner, is some unbelievable miracle: moving, glittering mosaics where fantastical beasts prance through lush, alien forests and miniature armies swarm and clash in tides of colorful ceramic; graceful stone sculptures and idols that turn their heads to watch as the two of them pass; beautiful silver-and-glass chimes suspended in midair that tinkle softly in ceaseless song; miniature gardens filled with a wide assortment of weird and colorful plants; and soaring above it all that breathtaking visage of the night sky.

Velnyr stops them occasionally to point out things of note, clearly those things of which she’s most proud. Ari, who is a tried-and-true expert at shamelessly fishing for compliments, is totally out of her depth. The dead mice this cat is dropping at her doorstep—they’re all feats beyond imagining! Surely a kind word and a pat on the head are insufficient! Thankfully Velnyr seems content with her overwhelmed silence alone, which is good because Ari has no clue what else she might offer, much less any idea of the spot where what she can offer and what Velnyr wants from her overlap.

Velnyr does show her a few worthwhile locations—a surprisingly cozy dining room, an enormous library with what looks to be every book ever published stocked in its sky-scraping shelves, a manufactured hot spring for bathing, even a well-stocked kitchen so pristine it can’t possibly see any actual use (Ari takes special note of its location; it’s been ages since she’s had a chance to cook just for fun). She deduces rather quickly that this wing of the palace must be for Velnyr alone—there’s not a single other soul in sight, not even a servant.

Even with the false sky and the tall ceilings and the plants everywhere and the glowing clusters of crystals, she can’t help but feel a little claustrophobic. It’s still pretty dark in here, okay! And there aren’t any windows!

Eventually, Velnyr leads her back to the atrium with the waterfall and down a much smaller hallway with only a couple of doors. Velnyr stops them before the first one; the other lies at the very end of the hall and is much grander.

“I mentioned I’d already prepared your accommodations, yes?” she says without preamble. Ari blinks at her, and then blinks at the door. It’s made of heavy stone, like most of the others, and carved with delightful traditional Saimerian imagery: dashing foxes, lush grape vines, lemon trees, jagged mountains. It’s also warded, and there’s no knob or handhold. Velnyr urges her forward, and Ari hesitantly presses her palm flat against it. She’s not surprised that the wards immediately respond to her touch, but she is pleased.

As soon as the door swings open and Ari steps inside, curious despite herself, her heart stops.

It…

Home. It looks like home. Not like her rooms in Kachai Fortress, but like her real home, the place where she was born and raised, the last place besides her master’s side that she’d felt truly safe, truly wanted. If she’d never run away from home, if she’d stayed with her family and worked her fingers to the bone, maybe she could’ve built them a place like this one day. They would have loved it.

It’s nothing at all like the rest of the palace. Really, it’s like stepping into not only a different place, but a different time.

She doesn’t look at Velnyr. She can’t. She has to swallow twice over the lump in her throat as she moves stiffly to the center of the room, hands fisted in the fabric of her trousers to hide their tremors, and turns in a slow, stuttering circle as she takes in this place that Velnyr has made for her. Just for her.

It’s spacious here, but not overwhelming. Far from it: these quarters have been molded with a careful eye, furnishings and decor arranged in such a way that no area feels too sparse or too crowded. The walls are coated in a warm, salmon-colored stucco periodically interrupted by thin pilasters carved with flowering vines or beautifully-patterned hand-woven rugs and tapestries. More of those lovely rugs cover the floor—so many that her bare feet might never touch stone if she doesn’t deliberately seek it out. Directly opposite the door, pushed against the far wall, is a large canopied bed strung up with gauzy burgundy drapes and perfumed sachets. All manner of pillows form a hillock against the headboard, and the thick mattress is covered in a gorgeous quilt patterned in complementary deep reds and blues and purples.

There’s a dressing table and polished bronze mirror on another wall, with a wardrobe, comfortable-looking divan, and a heavy wooden bookcase stuffed with tomes (mostly, Ari sees, a bunch of romances) nearby. A sturdy desk is covered with leather-bound journals and sticks of charcoal for sketching; a shining fiddle sits next to it.

Her eyes are stinging terribly.

Potted ferns and pothos hang from the arching ceiling alongside traditional lanterns. A massive rectangular window (a window!!!) above the bed overlooks a cozy, verdant garden; sunlight and birdsong and the sounds of burbling water from a modest fountain float through it. Perpendicular to the bed is a big wooden dividing screen, beyond which is probably a washroom.

And overtaking one corner is a stunning idol: the First Dragon stands upon muscular hind legs, massive wings unfurled to shelter eight smaller kneeling figures carved in the likenesses of the eight Archons—each set of hands is cupped around a tallow candle, and level with the base of the sculpture is a bronze brazier filled with fresh coal, ready to be lit.

It’s perfect. Perfect. She couldn’t have dreamed of anything better. This is the sort of room that could only be built with the utmost care and attention, and only by the sort of person who has, for some reason, spent hours analyzing her tastes down to the minutest detail. Ari could never have imagined anyone would ever bother seeking to understand her like this, and much less that “anyone” would be her unreadable master.

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She’s not worth even a fraction of this effort! She doesn’t know what to do with the fact that the effort has been undertaken regardless. And she doesn’t know what to do with the hopelessly tangled knot of emotions clogging up her chest either. It’s enormous, this knot, and painful. She can’t breathe around it. Her ribs creak with the force of containing it; she must bite hard into the meat of her cheek to keep from opening her mouth to expel it.

“You like it.” Velnyr sounds pleased. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, long outer sleeves draping over her stomach.

She more than likes it. She likes it so much she has to keep her hands pinned at her sides to keep from doing something regrettable, like throwing them around Velnyr in a crushing hug.

“Why?” Ari asks miserably. It’s fully futile now to pretend that she isn’t crying; she sounds like she’s trying to talk around a frog in her throat.

Velnyr tips her head. “Once, I asked you what your greatest desire was, what you would suffer any hardship to achieve. You told me you wanted to go home.”

Ari bursts into tears.

They’re not cute tears, like she used to pull out as a teenager when Velnyr was in an obliging mood, or noble silent tears befitting a professional. These are a hurt child’s full-body sobs, loud and wretched, so forceful they bend her over at the waist. It’s too much. All of this is too much. She can’t keep it bottled up anymore.

After a moment, firm hands grasp her shoulders, drawing her up until she has no choice but to wilt into an encompassing embrace. Velnyr has never really been one for hugs, which is a shame because she gives really good ones. Her arms are strong and tight around Ari’s back, her chest is soft and warm, the smell of her hair as she urges Ari’s head to rest in the crook of her shoulder is wonderful.

“Shhh. Hush, girl. Hush. You’re home now.”

One hand lifts to wipe briskly at Ari’s face, soothingly soft and cool. Ari only cries harder, her suit of emotional armor ragged and dented and suddenly unbearably heavy. Velnyr rubs her nose back and forth across Ari’s temple, humming quietly, as gentle as a dove.

Then it’s her lips against Ari’s temple—the lightest brush, at first, and then more firmly. Delicate, barely-there kisses pepper her hairline. Ari shivers. She shivers even harder as the hand wiping away her tears comes down to cradle her jaw, to tilt her head back until Velnyr can mouth her way down her damp cheek, over the philtrum beneath her nose, to come to rest against her own lips. Velnyr’s thumb caresses the corner of her mouth, and for several heartbeats they only breathe each other’s air.

Ari’s heart is about to beat right out of her chest. She’s not even really crying anymore, she’s just leaking, those wracking sobs thoroughly pacified.

She’s not really… She’s not really going to…?

She really does. Well, sort of. As Ari’s eyes dare to flutter open, Velnyr suddenly surges forward and bites the absolute hell out of Ari’s lower lip. Ari squawks, indignant with shock and pain, as those long fangs pierce her bloody. She thwacks Velnyr’s arm with the hand that isn’t fisted in the fabric of her nice robes.

Why!!!

Undeterred, Velnyr holds Ari in place by the jaw as she tilts her head to swipe her tongue over those welling punctures, and then over the seam of Ari’s lips. Ari isn’t particularly inclined to let her in lest her tongue suffer the same fate as her lips, but that doesn’t stop Velnyr. She presses Ari into a kiss that really can be called bruising.

“Nn!” says Ari’s mouth.

Wooooooooooo! says Ari’s brain.

Velnyr kisses her like she’s trying to rip her soul out through her teeth. It’s just this side of painful, and so completely overwhelming it’s literally all she can do to cling to Velnyr’s robes and try to regulate her breathing. She’s been kissed before, obviously, but never like this! She makes a genuine effort to keep up, nibbling at Velnyr’s mouth in a last-ditch effort to gentle her, stroking helplessly over her shoulders, even opening up to give that indomitable tongue new lands to conquer, but she never quite manages to find her footing before Velnyr pulls back just enough to slide the pad of her thumb into Ari’s mouth.

Her eyes are burning hot as she rubs that thumb across Ari’s lips with enough pressure that it stings, smearing droplets of blood over and inside her mouth.

“All mine,” she murmurs, almost imperceptibly; Ari gets the feeling these words aren’t for her. “All mine now.”

Before Ari can acclimate to this entirely new source of stimulus, Velnyr’s thumb withdraws only to be replaced by her two forefingers (with nails now trimmed down short and neat, how thoughtful!).

“Tha-hanh,” Ari tries to say, thoughtlessly, as those fingers slip past her teeth to rest against her tongue. That’s as far as she gets in terms of cohesive wordsmithing before Velnyr begins thrusting those fingers shallowly into her mouth as she crowds Ari back, back, back until her legs hit the edge of the huge bed. Velnyr keeps pushing her until she sits, propping herself up on her hands. She gets no warning before Velnyr grabs her by the jaw again and pushes deeper, harder, until the tips of her fingers brush against the fluttering muscles at the back of her throat.

There’s no room in Ari’s head for shame, or pride, or principles. Her mind is a choice cut of raw red meat trapped in a sizzling iron skillet, and every slow thrust of those fingers over her tongue and against the back of her throat douses that pan with oil, searing a crisp dark crust over her higher thought processes. Her ears are buzzing; she can’t hear anything except the wet, filthy sounds of her throat twitching and spasming at each intrusion.

Ari whines pathetically around her mouthful as an embarrassing amount of drool spills past the abused corners of her lips to dribble down her jaw and saturate the collar of her coat. She is, she’s slow to realize, furiously aroused.

Velnyr, at least, hardly seems to mind. As Ari mortifyingly soaks herself in both senses of the word, Velnyr makes a soft, pleased sound under her breath. In one brutal thrust, she slams inside Ari’s mouth up to the knucklebone, the pads of her fingers brushing the soft quivering heat of Ari’s palate until tears prick at her eyes and she gags wetly. Then she just—holds them there, fingertips massaging Ari’s throat from the inside, totally uncaring of Ari’s body’s reflexive attempts to expel her. If anything, they seem to excite her: as Ari chokes and whimpers and bathes herself in tears and sweat and saliva, Velnyr leans forward and swipes that long dark tongue through the mess on her jaw—all the way from chin to hinge, her moan so quiet Ari feels it only through the vibrations against her skin.

Sadist! Ari’s whole body shudders. Can her throat bruise from the inside out?!

Her brain is melting hot, her mouth stings, her throat is sore and aching, and she is perhaps the most turned on she has ever been in her life. It’s so wet at the apex of her thighs that she can feel it seeping into the fabric of her underthings, feel the damp, rough slide of cotton against the parted lips of her slick-swollen cunt. Her hips rock in helpless, convulsive little motions, seeking a friction the seam of her trousers alone can’t provide.

“Fmmmph,” she manages between painful swallows, staring up at Velnyr in teary-eyed supplication as she draws back just enough to press their foreheads together. Her expression (what Ari can discern of it through the miserable film of moisture on her lashes) is frighteningly ravenous, the black slits of her pupils blown until they nearly swallow the silver of her irises. The hand clasping her jaw has tightened so much Ari knows her skin must be cream-pale where Velnyr’s fingertips dig into the skin; she can picture clearly the red-purple streaks that will eventually bloom in their wake.

Her inner walls clench around throbbing emptiness.

“Ah, poor thing,” Velnyr says with mocking sympathy, a facade completely betrayed by the avid glitter in the devouring dark of her pupils. “You want to be filled properly, don’t you? You want to take me here?”

Her knee comes up to rest against the edge of the bed and make space for itself between Ari’s thighs—not touching that most sensitive place, but close enough that Ari could rub against her if she spread her legs wider.

Ari squeezes her eyes shut as she moans pitifully, more tears leaking through her lashes. She’s not even sure they’re all from her gag reflex at this point.

“Earn it from me, then, girl,” Velnyr tells her coaxingly. “Show me. Show me how badly you want your master to fuck you open.”

A hot jolt travels down the entire length of Ari’s body. She can feel her heartbeat in her clit.

She’s so embarrassed, she wants to die. She’s also so aroused she wants to die.

Well. She’s never let shame stop her before.

Carefully, still not sure exactly how much leeway she’s allowed, Ari wraps both hands lightly around Velnyr’s wrist to hold her in place, keeping a vigilant (weeping) eye on her face the entire time. When Velnyr makes no attempt to stop her (in fact, those blown-out pupils somehow widen even further, until there’s barely any barrier between them and her sclera), Ari determinedly relaxes her jaw and swipes a tentative lick over those fingers from base to tip.

She feels the faintest tremor travel up Velnyr’s arm. The queen’s lips part a bit, until the sharp, gleaming tips of her treacherous fangs are just barely visible. She stares down at Ari without blinking, without even seeming to breathe.

That must be a positive response, surely? Emboldened, Ari tightens both the set of her mouth and her hold on Velnyr’s wrist as she slowly slides back, suckling lightly as she draws off until Velnyr’s fingers part from her mouth with a wet pop, until only a thin, shining string of saliva connects them. Alright! An opportunity to catch her breath! Ari makes heartfelt use of those few precious seconds, gasping hard with exertion and arousal both. Then, following that tenuous thread of drool, she presses forward once more, taking Velnyr’s fingers down gently to spare her gag reflex.

She hasn’t done this exact sort of thing before, but she’s an avid, equal-opportunity erotica reader! Who said trashy smut never applies to the real world!

Ari keeps her eyes glued to Velnyr’s face as she steels herself and begins bobbing her head back and forth, all the way from knucklebone to fingertip, curling the flat of her tongue to cradle those slender fingers inside her. This has the downside of getting saliva all over her but the upside of punching Velnyr’s breath straight out of her chest. It’s messy and amateurish—she finds it harder than she would expect to maintain a steady rhythm, and despite her best efforts she occasionally pushes too hard and has to stop for a second to cough and whimper while her throat does its best to crush this unwanted intruder—but somehow the embarrassment and discomfort isn’t… unpleasant. Especially not with the way Velnyr’s breathing turns ragged, the way her pulse pounds through her fingertips on Ari’s jaw.

The inside of Ari’s skull is roiling and soupy, but also a little floaty. It’s as though her mind has jettisoned every concern, every troubling inconvenient thought, so she can focus completely on this one task. It’s okay that her hair is stuck to her face with sweat, and her chest is damp with drool, and between her legs the join of her trousers is soaked. She doesn’t have to worry about looking like a—like a whore. It’s okay. Velnyr is paying attention to her. Just her, nothing else. The full force of her focus is scalding; Ari’s whole body is warmed by it.

She’s always wanted this. Isn’t it okay to enjoy it, just for a little while? Would it be so terrible to betray herself for this, to become a toy for this woman to use and use until she’s satisfied? Just for now?

The idea of it, of being so… disgraceful, so indecent, so pathetic that she’d willingly degrade herself like this for a person who’s treated her so poorly… It makes her stomach twist on itself in anger—at herself, at Velnyr. And it makes her throb with another vile lance of arousal, so potent that the slick flooding from her cunt spreads down to the middle of her inner thighs.

Ari keens loudly, throwing her last shred of dignity to the wind as she takes Velnyr’s fingers down as far as they’ll go and makes herself choke on them, withdrawing shallowly just to ram herself forward again until she can imagine the inside of her throat blooming a deep bruised red from the force of her efforts, her hands tight on Velnyr’s arm so she can’t pull back, craving that feeling of too much with a mindless ferocity. If she’s going to act like a debauched slut, shouldn’t she commit herself to the role wholeheartedly?

“Fuck,” Velnyr hisses. Ari’s secure hold on her arm is suddenly ripped away, and so is the hand in her mouth. Velnyr grabs her shoulder and pushes her back, hard, until she impacts the mattress with a soft ‘oomph’. Velnyr grabs at her trousers and yanks them and her underthings down and off in one fell swoop, leaving Ari in just her rumpled, drool-soaked coat.

And then Velnyr is leaning over, spreading her thighs, and entering her—long, cool, slender fingers drenched with saliva and Ari’s own wetness sliding into her with laughable ease. Her passage is so slick that even that slight motion makes a loud, depraved sound; as Velnyr begins to rock that hand short and shallow into her, feeling her out, searching for every dip and crevice, those wet noises blend with Ari’s harsh panting to create a debauched sort of melody.

It doesn’t take long for Velnyr to maneuver her fingers up into the rough little divot at the roof of her passage, and as soon as she finds it she angles her wrist so that she can press up hard against it, massaging firmly with the pads of her fingers until hot little sparks skitter across Ari’s pelvis all the way to her hips.

It doesn’t feel quite like the books describe—like Velnyr has found some mystical button inside her that explodes with pleasure at the slightest brush—but it still feels really fucking good. It’s like someone has wound a string through her guts and up her spine, and every rhythmic curl of Velnyr’s fingers against that spot pulls it tighter. As though that isn’t enough, Velnyr shifts again until she can rub her thumb against the swollen nub of Ari’s clit as she thrusts.

Ari can’t help the sounds that come out of her as those fingers relentlessly hammer away at her cunt, at her clit, every stroke making her stomach twitch. Her head tosses against the mattress, her legs kick and shake, her hands fist in the very nice quilt that she’ll never be able to look at without blushing again. There’s sweat pooling in the dip of her back, at the base of her neck, on her scalp.

She’s barely present enough to make sense of the words spilling from Velnyr’s mouth.

“So good for me, pet, so good…” and “You feel so hot around me” and—

And in the Heavenstongue, that sacred language her master once spent countless days teaching her, Velnyr pants: “Wife, my wife… Won’t you lie with me like this forever? Stay with me forever. I’ll never let you leave again.”

W—

Wi—

Wife?! Wife?!?! What wife?! Who??? What??? What???????

Ari’s mind, which has been put through trials no mere mortal could hope to conquer, finally keels over and gives up.

Nope. Nope! Nope nope nope! She’s still dreaming! Now it all makes sense. She never woke up from the Harbinger’s poison-induced nightmares and now she’s stuck in a bizarre, unbelievable, hyper-realistic fantasy. When she wakes up she’ll be back in her tent with a headache and everything will be normal again. That’s right! Haha! What a silly little vision her brain has cooked up! She’s sure she’ll laugh about it a whole bunch later!

Maybe it’s those ridiculous, unrealistic words that push her over the edge, or maybe it’s just that the relentless pressure building in her gut finally explodes, but Ari tumbles into an orgasm so potent her vision whites out.

“Sahan, Sahan, Sahan—” she sobs, clawing at the quilt, reduced to a shaking, weeping, soaking mess. Velnyr fucks her all the way through it, not so much as slowing down, even as Ari’s sobs reach a fever pitch and her thighs clamp shut trying to force her out of Ari’s oversensitive, clenched-tight cunt.

Again, Velnyr bends down to mouth at her sweating forehead.

“Stay like this, my heart. Stay with me. I’ll be your home. Stay with me.”