SLURP—SLURP—SLURP—
The wet, rhythmic sounds of three mouths on one cock filled the room like a chorus of debauchery. The copper tub had been abandoned. The floor had been abandoned. They were on the bed—the single bed that was never meant for four bodies but that held them anyway, a tangle of limbs and flesh and sweat and the thick, cloying scent of sandalwood oil and pheromones so dense that the air itself felt drunk.
Raven lay on his back.
His coat was beneath him—spread on the sheets like a dark sheet of silk. His shirt was gone. His trousers were open. His legs were spread—wide, casual, the posture of a man who has been serviced by three women and who is now being serviced by three more mouths and who finds the entire arrangement as natural as breathing.
His cock was thick.
Long.
