The pleasure room flickered with candlelight, carrying its soft, familiar aroma, while the red curtains strained to contain the mildly pungent ooze emanating from the elf lying on the bed.
Sabrina sat sprawled on the couch, one leg kicked up on the armrest, gnawing on a chicken leg like she hadn't eaten in days. Grease smeared across her dark lips, dripping down her tattooed chin as she tore into the meat with her teeth.
She let out a satisfied burp, loud and unashamed, rubbing her belly through the loose robe. The fabric had fallen open enough to show her abs—still defined despite the feast, tight ridges visible beneath dark skin marked with swirling ink.
"Fuck me, that was good," she muttered, picking at her teeth with a conjured toothpick, eyes half-lidded in contentment.
Her gaze drifted lazily toward the bed where Sylvea still slept, butterflies resting on her like living jewelry. Sabrina's mind wandered back to earlier—the wasteland, the fox woman, that whole clusterfuck.
