The smirk in my mind was a quiet thing. Private. The kind of expression that lived behind the eyes and never reached the mouth. I let it sit there while my gaze drifted down to Seraphina's hand.
Two fingers. Coated. Soaked, actually. The white fluid, thick and unmistakable, dripped from her fingertips in a slow, obscene thread that stretched toward the floor. She stood there, frozen, her arm half-extended, her fingers glistening with my seed. The seed I had pumped into the dark elf not twenty minutes ago in the carriage. The seed that was now, thanks to her own invasive inspection, smeared across her skin like evidence at a crime scene.
Her face. God, her face. The color that flooded her cheeks was not the flush of arousal or even the flush of anger. It was the flush of a woman caught red-handed. A thief with her fingers in the cookie jar, except the cookie jar was another woman's pussy and the cookies were her professor's cum.
