Phei's descent was deliberate, almost ritualistic—each motion a slow, reverent offering laid before the wounded goddess he cradled with such solemn care.
His mouth traced the elegant curve of her ribcage, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses directly onto the flowering bruises Jonathan had inflicted. Vivid constellations of deep violet and fading ochre charted every brutal impact across her skin like a map of endured violence.
Where a savage kick had branded a horseshoe-shapedcontusion above her hip, his lips sealed over it with heated devotion, his tongue gliding softly to savor the fevered salt of her abused flesh.
Roxanne jolted a moan sharply—not from pain, but from a sudden, cataclysmic burst of ecstasy that detonated low in her belly from her pussy and where Phei had kissed.
A hoarse, fractured cry tore from her throat—"HHHNNNG—haaaahhh!"—as her body yielded utterly, surrendering without hesitation or conscious permission.
