His thumb traced the cleft of her ass, moving lower, circling her puckered hole.
"Come on," he continued, his voice dropping into something darker, hungrier. "Sit on it with this hole, Mira."
His thumb pressed forward.
It breached her asshole.
"Hyaahh—!" Mira's entire body flinched, her back arching sharply, eyes flying wide open.
The tight ring of muscle resisted for a heartbeat before yielding, allowing his thumb to sink in up to the first knuckle.
"Nnnghh—!" Mira's breath hitched, her hands gripping the stone floor, nails scraping against the surface.
Her gaze darted sideways—toward the entrance where Elara still stood pressed against the wall.
The noblewoman's amber eyes were locked on them. Her face was flushed deep crimson, her breathing shallow and rapid. One hand was pressed against the wall for support; the other hovered near her chest, trembling.
Her expression was a war.
'I want that. I want to be in her place. I want him to fuck me like that—'
