She remained bent over the sofa arm with her legs weak and her face flushed with bliss.
If only she was aware that the person whose meat had granted her relief from her grief was the same person responsible for her husband's disappearances.
Hours later, after night had settled over Misty High, Yelena now lay peacefully on the sofa beneath a neatly folded blanket, her breathing slow and even.
Tear stains still marked her cheeks but instead of grief, this was from the ecstasy brought about by West's good plowing.
West sat in the armchair opposite her with his gaze lingering on the fake sleeping widow.
"...Sleep well," he muttered quietly. "I'll be sure to let your husband know you squirted up to five times today."
He rose from his seat, adjusted the blanket over her shoulders and quietly dimmed the lights before walking toward the large window overlooking the city.
West folded his arms. "My revenge really is unfolding exactly as I imagined..."
