The tail retracted fully, Viktor's black spade-tipped appendage curling back against his spine and disappearing beneath the hem of his shirt.
Olivia stood on legs that had no business holding her upright. She swayed, her massive breasts bobbing with the movement, milk still beading at her darkened nipples. Viktor's arms remained around her waist—lazy, possessive—not so much supporting her as simply 'owning' her, the way a man holds something that belongs to him.
He looked down at her face.
Mascara painted in black streaks down her cheeks. Lower lip swollen from biting. Golden-blonde hair a disaster—matted, tangled, half-plastered to the side of her throat where he'd left a mark that wouldn't fade for days.
She was ruined. Absolutely ruined.
And still the most devoted expression he'd ever seen.
"'Hahh'... 'hahh'..."
