Alaric hoisted Fiora's sore, pliant body against his own still-powerful frame. Her gasp was a mixture of pain and involuntary anticipation. He kissed her again, hard, a claim renewed in the pale morning light.
He carried her towards the center of the ravaged chamber. Towards Lyra, who was blinking dazedly, leaning heavily against the window frame, the absurd teacher outfit clinging damply to her heaving bosom. Towards Cassandra, who groaned softly on the rug, beginning to push herself up, the student uniform twisted and torn, revealing flashes of creamy thigh and the curve of her backside.
The air was thick, cloying. Sweat, sex, spilled seed, and the ghost of aphrodisiacs. Dawn painted the chaos in soft pinks and golds, a bizarrely beautiful backdrop to the scene of utter degradation.
