When the main chamber of the Emperor of Iondora became akin to a fever dream of tangled limbs and broken moans, the fire had long died and the only light came from the pale moon filtering through the frost-laced window.
Ivy lay between them, flushed and trembling, her body pushed to its limits and still aching for more.
They had tried, truly, they had, to ready her second hole, but she was too tight, too new, and the burn had been too much.
"Next time," Magnus whispered against her throat, his voice rough with restraint. "We'll take our time with this sweet little hole."
Damon glared at him. In this room, he was the only one who still couldn't think of any next time.
The responsibility he would uphold and was talking about was anything but doing this again.
But they still had to finish. And so they fell into a rhythm of taking turns, one buried inside her while the other guided her mouth to his cock, her lips stretched and slick with saliva and precum.
