The training hall smelled of sweat, steel, and sex.
Time had slipped away after the spar. Anya lay sprawled on her back across the padded mat, her strapless dress thrown aside, skin glistening in the dim light.
Her pale thighs were splayed open like a broken doll, her sticky petals still twitching with the aftershocks of release, oozing a heavy stream of white that pooled onto the mats beneath her.
Anya's chest slowly rose and fell in a lazy rhythm, lips parted and lipstick smeared. Every tremor that ran down her spine made her whimper softly, as if her body still hadn't recovered from Nikolai's brutal "lesson."
Nikolai sat naked while wiping his face with a discarded towel.
His black aura simmered faintly, restless even in the respite, but his gaze lingered on Anya's limp body. She looked wrecked, broken down and erotic. The faint, blissful smile clinging to her lips spoke of satisfaction and something darker and more interesting.
An addiction.
The door creaked.
