She had been held by two demon soldiers — their claws in her arms, their weight on her back — while she watched her family executed. The sword falling. The blood. The screams that had torn her throat raw while her core broke inside her, her mana shattering, her power bleeding out through her eyes.
The Matriarch had shown mercy.
The mercy of removing her from the world by throwing her into it — broken, powerless, exiled to a life of cooking for strangers while her heart rotted in her chest.
Tears ran down Naro's face.
She did not know when they had started.
She bit her lip.
The pain of it — the old, familiar pain of memory — mixed with the new, confusing, overwhelming sensation of his hand on her breast, his fingers pulling at her stiff nipple through the cloth, his cock grinding rhythmically against her ass as if he were not doing it deliberately.
"Please," she whispered.
But she did not know what she was pleading for.
Stop?
Or continue?
His hand moved under her.
