And soon, Zephyra was asleep within minutes.
The heavy, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest signaled that the High Shaman was completely out cold, utterly exhausted from the brutal physical and spiritual exchange.
Sol remained propped on one elbow for a while, simply watching her.
The sight was strangely beautiful. Her long, silver hair spilled across the woven mat like a beautiful abstract painting, damp strands clinging to her flushed cheeks and elegant neck.
The intricate cyan tattoos on her pale skin had finally dimmed to a soft, gentle glow, pulsing faintly with each slow breath she took.
Her heavy breasts rose and fell rhythmically, the dark nipples still slightly swollen and marked with the clear imprints of his teeth.
Lower down, the evidence of their passion was unmistakable… thick trails of his cum still leaked slowly from both her well-fucked pussy and her newly claimed asshole, coating her inner thighs in a glistening, obscene mess.
She looked thoroughly ruined.
