The first man to speak was the tax embezzler — a slight, precise man named Culliver. He kept the county's books and had been adjusting them for the better part of four years, quietly redirecting funds into channels with his name on them.
He cleared his throat. Unfolded his papers.
"I — the matter of the eastern district assessments — there has been, in the records, a discrepancy—"
He stopped.
Viktor's hand in Eliantra's hair had tightened.
Not viciously. Deliberately. The firm grip of a man initiating something heavier.
Her head began to move.
It was no longer the exhausted, sustained, slow work of the last hour. This was far more purposeful.
His hand guided her, setting a demanding rhythm. Her mouth accepted it fully. Her throat opened around him, the sound changing register — the wet, deep, internal noise of a woman's throat taking devastating depth.
The suppressed, reflexive "Hnnmph~♡" that came with it was muffled entirely against his leaking shaft.
