The whisper hit her like cold water thrown on a brazier.
Her whole body locked mid-moan.
'Husband.'
That single word from Tianlong's lips dissolved every clouded thought, every surrendered nerve ending, every white-hot wave of pleasure still rolling through her lower belly — and replaced it with a cold, collapsing dread that somehow made her nipples harder.
She went rigid against him.
His cock was still buried inside her, still thick, still mercilessly full, plugging her so deep she could feel the ridge of his head pressed flush against her womb's mouth.
She didn't move.
Neither did her pussy — it just kept squeezing him, traitor thing, fluttering in little involuntary spasms around his shaft while her mind screamed.
She turned her face — slow, like a woman checking if the snake was still there.
And through the gap between Tianlong's shoulder and the rough tree bark, framed by lantern-flicker and distant drumbeats from the festival, she saw him.
Her husband.
