She looked.
Viktor pulled Rihana up out of the water.
The woman's body came with him in a cascade of silver — sheets of pond water pouring off curves that Gwen's fevered, helpless eyes catalogued in real time. Full, heavy breasts swinging with the motion, nipples dark and still leaking thin white threads down their undersides. Wide hips. Thick thighs. A belly that shook softly with every sob still running through her.
And Viktor's hands — 'those hands' — gripping her like she was inventory he was entitled to handle any way he chose.
Gwen's free hand, without her full awareness, had found the hem of her skirt.
