The room was now thick with the scent of sex and what could've been a scent of scorched magic and the faint metallic tang of soul-fire still lingering in the air like dying embers.
Cassiopeia's body had long since stopped counting orgasms after the third one; they blurred into a single, endless cascade of white-hot surrender.
Her mind floated somewhere above the wreckage of her own will, anchored only by the relentless stretch of Phei's cock buried deep inside her and the dragon coiling tighter around her soul with every pulse of his shaft and the Mark on her forehead.
