He was right.
Her Truth-Sight confirmed it, unbidden, in that flat clear way it had of providing information she did not want: he was saying truth. Her pussy was — it was gripping him, it was soaked and swollen around the full girth of his cock, and it was the highest-quality — she slammed the Truth-Sight closed with everything she had.
Her saliva was running freely down her chin onto those pink nipples.
Her hips moved without her. Her body adjusted to the intrusion the way a body does — not welcoming it exactly, not accepting it without protest, but 'adapting,' the walls of her cunt reshaping around the thickness that had been shoved into it, the ache spreading upward through her core in a way that was both agony and something she refused to name.
'He is inside me,' she thought, distantly. 'He is inside me and I am clothed and my husband is right here and my husband has—'
Raven's hips blurred.
