The call came while Cassiopeia was still deliciously impaled on Phei's cock like a human shish kebab at a particularly enthusiastic barbarian feast.
The universe clearly right now ran on sitcom logic, and Phei was the eternal punchline in a cosmic joke written by exhausted writers mainlining caffeine at 2 a.m.
Melissa's name flashed across the screen. Phei answered with one hand, the other staying firmly locked on Cassiopeia's hip. She was bent overthe edge of the bed, with her hair plastered to her sweat-slicked back, thighs trembling like overworked jelly after ninety straight minutes of being thoroughly ravished across every conceivable surface in the room.
The bed. The desk. And suspicious ottoman lurking near the window whose actual purpose remained a mystery. They had been so thorough that even Eira had wept with pride for her master and this shameless aunt.
"Emergency meeting," Melissa barked, zero preamble, zero pleasantries."Maxton Mansion."
