Her eyes adjusted to the moonlight—and her entire body went rigid, a bolt of ice and fire shooting through her veins.
On the other sofa, Viktor had Helena.
But not like Mira had ever seen anyone have someone before. It wasn't love; it was consumption.
Helena was on her hands and knees, her massive ass thrust up high, back arched so deep it looked like her spine might snap—when had that happened? Her uniform, once a symbol of her authority, had been ripped open, hanging in pathetic tatters from her shoulders.
Those huge tits, which she carried with such matronly pride, now swung beneath her like pale, heavy fruit, her nipples dragging raw across the sofa fabric with each brutal impact.
Viktor knelt behind her, his naked, chubby form a stark contrast to the shadows. His soft belly pressed into the upper curve of her ass cheeks.
