Cassian woke with his penis still half-hard, sticky and reeking of the night’s filth. The sheets beneath them were damp, ruined, carrying the stink of sweat and sex that clung to the air like smoke.

For Analisa, her folds ached, stretched raw, every clench reminding her how deep he’d been inside. ’It kept pulling, kept sucking, like it couldn’t bear to let go...’ Her hips twitched even now, empty but still begging.

She had survived battles against gods and mages who wielded pleasure as a weapon. But nothing compared to last night. Every time she thought she had endured enough, another wave crushed her, dragging her down. Morning came, and with it the shame of knowing she had been broken not by power, but by a boy’s penis.

She could still taste him, thick and bitter on her tongue. Her lips were swollen, jaw sore, her throat remembering the weight of him forcing deeper until her body had learned to swallow instead of choke. ’All night, he used me like a hole—cock, hands, whatever he wanted. And I let him. Gods, I fucking let him.’

Her eyes fluttered open, catching the warmth against her cheek—something soft yet firm. Blinking in surprise, she realized she was curled against Cassian, hugging him as though he hadn’t just spent hours using her like nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure.

The thought alone made her stomach tighten. Her gaze drifted downward, landing on his penis, still half-hard, and her body betrayed her—her core twitching with phantom echoes of the countless orgasms he’d wrung from her. Images flashed in her mind: the squirts that had soaked the sheets, the loads he’d spilled inside her, the mess streaked across her butt, her breasts, even her face and armpits—her humiliation sealed by the way he made her lick him clean after.

Even now, the sheets clung wet and heavy to her backside, sticky with the mingled mess of his seed and her own slick. She couldn’t even remember when she stopped counting—somewhere after the fourth time he emptied himself inside her, her mind had blurred, her body giving up as the ache took over.

Remembering everything, she pushed herself upright, glaring at Cassian’s sleeping face. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened as she narrowed them, dangerous and sharp, as if she were ready to blow his head off the moment he stirred. Her hand twitched, itching to reach for her magic, to scorch that smug face while he slept.

Yet her body betrayed her. Her womb gave a small, traitorous clench, a twitch rippling through her core, dragging her gaze downward against her will. His cock stirred in his sleep, twitching faintly, and the sight made her own body respond again, the faint warmth of his seed still leaking from her. It should have dried by now—but no, it had barely been an hour since he finally stopped.

"I... want more."

The words slipped from Analisa’s lips before she even realized.

Cassian stirred, blinking awake. But instead of the smug cruelty he’d worn all night, his face softened into something reverent. He sat up quickly, bowing his head, and said in the most solemn tone, "You woke up, my liege."

Analisa blinked, startled.

He went on, hurried, almost panicked: "If I offended you last night, if my behavior was disrespectful—I beg forgiveness. I only acted so because... because that is how Lady Brigid prefers it. She once asked me to treat her that way, and I thought you—" he bowed again, words tumbling over themselves, "—I thought you desired the same, as you had asked to treat you like her."

For a moment, Analisa’s mind went blank. She had almost forgotten the excuse he had muttered before ravaging her like a common whore, insulting her, calling her an old bitch while he used her body without restraint. But now, remembering, she felt her face flush with a shame deeper than any humiliation of the night.

Because she had said it. She had thought Brigid treated Cassian like her plaything, and she had wanted to taste the same power, the same indulgence. Yet the truth—now so clear—was far uglier: she had not been using him. He had been using her. And she had let him.

Her first instinct was to lash out—to end his smug act with a bolt of fire, to silence him before the shame burned deeper. But her fingers only curled against her thigh, trembling. Because the shame did

burn hotter than rage.

The thought sent her breath quickening again. ’I’m the same... the same as my granddaughter...’

"You don’t need to apologize," she whispered, her voice tighter than she intended.

Cassian lifted his head in surprise. For a moment, even he was caught off guard—he hadn’t expected those words, not from her. All morning he had prepared himself for the worst—for his arms to be severed, his legs crushed, his penis burned off. His healing would patch it back eventually, but he had braced for it. This whole submissive act had been his last gambit, a desperate plan.

Yet... it worked.

And now, as he caught her gaze drifting down toward his half-hard penis, saw the heat still burning in her eyes, Cassian nearly laughed aloud. ’Fucking perverted old hag... she wants more.’

But he couldn’t just take her again—not now. Not until she asked for it herself. Still, as his eyes wandered over her naked body, he couldn’t deny the urge simmering in him. He wanted to spill inside her again, to squeeze those heavy breasts, to slap that thick, tempting ass.

Her mature body was nothing short of intoxicating—curves carved by time, milky-white skin, a faint softness at her belly, her tall frame carrying every line with dignity. Her nipples were still swollen, glistening from their earlier frenzy.

Cassian bowed his head slightly, his voice rising with restrained intensity."Even so... I treated you harshly. I didn’t mean to—but with the heat of the moment, and your beautiful body in front of me, I lost control. I indulged myself, when my duty was only to give the pleasure, not take it. For that, I... apologize."

The night before and now felt like two entirely different worlds, and that contrast unsettled her more than she wanted to admit."Don’t worry about it," she said at last, her tone clipped but not cold. "Just... don’t tell anyone what happened last night. And if Brigid asks, then..." She hesitated, a faint blush coloring her cheeks before she forced the words out in a low murmur, "tell her I was the one who used you like a toy."

Cassian caught that blush, the crack in her composure, and a smirk tugged at his lips."As you wish, my liege," he replied smoothly, his tone polite but with a flicker of mockery that almost dared her to deny what she wanted. "And if you have any more... chores for me, I’ll be glad to serve."

When he said that, her eyes flickered with excitement—but the spark quickly dimmed. Last night she had been able to voice her desires, driven by the haze of pleasure and the relentless way he pushed her. Now, without that pressure, the words stuck in her throat. It was too embarrassing. She wanted him again—inside her folds, filling her mouth, those thick veins pressing against her—but how could she ask for it so openly?

Her thoughts drifted, and the scent of their mingled sweat and release clung to her skin. She exhaled softly and said instead, "Well... on that point, I do need your help cleaning up. You made quite the mess of me."

Cassian’s smile widened, though he tilted his face down to hide it. His hand slid lazily across her thigh as he answered, voice low, smooth, and heavy with suggestion."It would be my honor, my liege. After all..." his eyes gleamed as they lingered on her folds, still leaking faintly, "...I wouldn’t want to waste a single drop."