The walk back to Madam Lin's house was silent.
Not the comfortable kind of silence. The heavy, weighted kind—filled with unspoken thoughts, shame, fear, and something darker that neither woman wanted to acknowledge.
Zhang Yue walked slightly ahead, one hand still loosely held in Cang's larger grip, her other hand periodically moving to her face—trying uselessly to wipe away the evidence of what had happened in the garden.
But it was useless.
Her face was still ruined. Eyes red and swollen from crying. Cheeks flushed crimson. Lips swollen and tender from being stretched impossibly wide. Chin and neck still slightly sticky where she hadn't been able to wipe all the cum away.
And her throat—gods, her throat ached. Raw and sore from being violated, every swallow sending sharp reminders of what she'd just endured.
'I sucked his cock,' her mind kept repeating numbly. 'I—I let him—no, he MADE me—but I didn't fight hard enough—I could have bitten—could have—'
But she hadn't.
