"Really…?"
THRUST!
SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—
The wet, rhythmic percussion of skin meeting skin.
"Aaahh… aaa… aaah... aaaa…"
Breathy, broken cries, each one a shard of glass scraping down his spine. A voice he knew. A voice that should not sound like that.
"…cock feels that good, baby?"
A low, male growl. A voice that made his blood boil.
"Mmm… so good, East… your cock... So… crazy good…"
Bliss. Her voice. Wrecked. Adoring.
"Fuck."
A guttural, satisfied curse.
He saw them. Behind a stone pillar in a deserted corridor. He saw a foot, clad in a delicate loafer, sticking out from behind the pillar, swaying, trembling with each impact.
"It feels… crazy good, baby…"
He heard them. Every gasp, every slap, every whispered, filthy endearment. The soft, low, rumbling voice of the lion…
Arzhen gasped awake in his own opulent chamber.
He was drenched in a cold sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs as if trying to escape. The luxurious sheets were tangled around his legs, a trap.
