Phei returned from his exercises to find her awake.
Not moving—fuck no, she couldn't move a single muscle below the neck without fireworks of delicious agony exploding between her thighs—but awake.
Propped against the headboard with a fortress of pillows behind her, phone in those elegant, trembling hands, the white sheets tangled low around her hips, leaving her glorious upper body completely bare in the golden morning light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
She looked like a Renaissance masterpiece titled; Freshly Fucked Goddess Recovering From Being Split Open By A Dragon Cock.
That was the thing about Sierra that the world never saw behind the Hell Bitch Queen armor—the razor tongue, the death-glare that could castrate a man at twenty paces. They missed this: the way she still held herself like royalty even when her cunt was swollen, leaking, and probably bruised in the shape of his name.
