The room had already been ruined long before the candles burned this low.
Sheets were twisted into ropes. Pillows had been kicked to the floor. The carved bedframe groaned every few breaths as if it still remembered the violence done to it through the night. The air itself felt wet. Thick. Salted with sweat, perfume, milk, seed, and the musky heat of bodies that had not stopped touching for hours.
Sarah cried out first.
Not a scream of fear. A full-bodied, exhausted, shameless cry that burst from the dwarven wife's throat as Raven drove up into her from below, flat on his back, his large hands locked around her hips while she squatted over him on trembling thighs.
"AAAH...! R-Raven...! Too deep again... ngh...!"
Her thick body bounced helplessly on his cock. Every drop forced another loud slap from flesh meeting flesh. Her big breasts swayed and jolted with every brutal rise of his hips, her braid half-undone and stuck to the side of her damp face.
Pah. Pah. Pah. PAAH.
