The sun had fully set. Soft lantern light flickered across the grounds, casting warm golden glows over the guests. Some were still dancing, the music lively, while a good quarter of the men were already drunk; slurring, laughing too loud, and getting handsy with the maids. The women… nearly half of them kept stealing glances at me, some openly staring.
"Hey."
I turned at the voice behind me. There she was… sitting at a small table with an older man. The same dark-skinned beauty I'd seen stepping out of that tent earlier, naked, cum dripping down her thighs. She looked incredible in a revealing dress that barely contained her massive breasts. The deep neckline plunged almost to her navel, the thin fabric clinging to her heavy tits and leaving little to the imagination.
"This is my husband, Groatch," she said with a sultry smile. "And you know me. Ravelle."
The man was easily in his sixties, gray-haired and mild-looking. He gave me a polite nod.
