The seed ran.
The excess—the volume that even her trained, accommodating throat could not manage—tracked from the corners of her lips, down her chin, dripped onto the heavy swell of her breasts.
From her nostrils, the warm overflow of seed found its way out with the full, indisputable, humiliating quality of a woman who had received more than she could hold and was wearing the evidence.
He pulled out slowly.
The long, dragging withdrawal—her lips closing behind him with the helpless, trained quality of a mouth that had been taught to hold until the end and was following its instruction even now, even in the wreckage of everything.
She knelt at the edge of the tub.
Eyes wet. Nose running with the warm, white quality of overflow. Milk still beading at her left nipple from his earlier attention, tracing a thin, pale line down the heavy, full swell of her pregnant belly and disappearing into the water.
She looked like exactly what she was.
"No—"
