The dim light of the single lantern painted the room in amber and shadow.
Seraphina lay beneath me, her blonde hair fanned across the pillow like spilled gold. Her hands, both of them, were pinned above her head by my left fist. Her wrists, pressed together, were small enough that I could hold both with one hand. The nightdress, which had been removed hours ago, was a crumpled heap on the floor. Her body, naked and marked, was a canvas of red fingerprints and bite marks and hickeys that traced from her neck to her thighs.
I was fucking her.
Not making love. Not the gentle, measured pace of the first time. Fucking. The kind of pace that turned beds into wreckages and women into wrecks.
Pah! Pah! Pah!
"OUNGH...!! ... professor...!! ... AH...!! ... HAAANGH...!!"
