The bells of the palace temple had not yet chimed noon when Ranjeet withdrew his now flaccid cock from between Priya’s swollen lips. A string of saliva and his own seed still connected her mouth to the dark, heavy tip. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, collecting the strand and pushing it back onto her tongue. She swallowed without being told, her throat working visibly, her eyes glassy and devoted.

“We are not finished,” he said, his voice a low, resonant promise. He rose from the bed, his naked body a sculpture of hard muscle and dark hair in the streaming gold light. “Stay. Do not move. Do not close your legs. Do not wipe your face. I want you exactly as you are, leaking and wet and marked.”