The words arrived in her mind without her permission. Vulgar. Honest.
The particular, unfiltered, involuntary assessment of a woman who was looking at another woman's body through the lens of a man's desire and recognizing that the lens did not favor her.
Evriana was not small. She was not thin. She had the Catorian build — the broad shoulders, the thick thighs, the heavy, dense frame.
But she was older. The body that had been firm at twenty was softer at thirty-nine.
The tits that had been high and full were heavier now, the particular, mature, gravity-claimed sag of a woman who had never worn a binding cloth because her bloodline did not require one.
And Viktor seemed to be enjoying Berenga.
The way he had touched her. The way he had fucked her. The way he had sucked her nipples and slammed his cock into her and came inside her with the particular, satisfied, possessive completion of a man who was exactly where he wanted to be, doing exactly what he wanted to do.
