Her enormous body moving with that fluid demon grace — her boobs swaying with each step, the elongated pink nipples stiff in the apartment air, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, her tail flicking behind her, her golden wings folded tight.
She stopped in front of him.
He had moved to the couch.
Sitting back against it with the specific posture of a man who has just finished something significant and is reviewing the results — his abs visible in the lamplight, his cock hanging half-erect between his thighs, the shaft coated in the full inventory of everything that had happened: Soha's slick, the dried blood of the deflowering, his own load still visible in a thick coating from base to the dark-flushed head, the pre-cum from the earlier hours dried in layers beneath all of it.
He looked at the succubus.
She looked at his cock.
Her expression went through something.
