One leg on the mattress, the other planted on cold stone. That was the position I held as the morning light crept through the window slit, painting a thin blade of gold across the wrecked sheets.
My cock was buried inside Seraphina. The walls of her pussy, raw and swollen from hours of use, clenched around the shaft like a fist that refused to let go. Juices — hers, mine, a mixture of both — ran down her thighs in slow, thick threads that dripped onto the sheet below. The fabric, already soaked through, was dark and heavy with the evidence of the night.
