She tried to move. She tried to pull away. Her hands scrambled for the edge of the tub. Her legs kicked. The water splashed. But Raven’s arms were around her. His hands were on her breasts. His cock was inside her. He held her the way one holds a captured animal—firmly, casually, without effort.

"Shh," he said. His lips were near her ear. His voice was low. Intimate. The voice of a man speaking to his woman while her grandfather watched. "Do not move. I am almost done."

He was not almost done.

He continued. His hips moved. His cock slid in and out. The water splashed. The sound continued.

SCHLUK SCHLUK SCHLUK—

"Master—!" Sera gasped. Her voice was torn. Half pleasure, half shame. Her eyes were on her grandfather. Her face was crimson. Her lips were trembling. "Please— he is— Grandfather is— please—"

Raven thrust. Deep. One final, slow, grinding thrust that pushed his entire length inside her and held. His hips pressed against her ass. His balls rested against her cunt. His cock was buried to the root.

Sera’s mouth opened. No sound came. Her eyes rolled. Her back arched. Her nipples hardened further—if that were possible—pressing outward, dark and stiff and swollen.

Raven pulled out.

The sound was obscene. Wet. Loud. His cock emerged from her cunt with a sound like a cork being pulled from a bottle—a thick, sucking, schlocking sound that echoed off the tile walls.

SCHLUUURK—

His cock was enormous. Twelve inches. Thick. Dark. The shaft was coated—slick with her juice, with the bathwater, with his own pre-cum. The head was swollen. Purple. The slit was leaking. A thick, clear strand of fluid hung from the tip, swinging as he moved.

He had fucked her well.

Old Tomas could see it. The trained eye of a man who had tended bodies for forty years could see everything. Her pussy was swollen. The lips were thick. Dark. Engorged. The opening was gaping—stretched, recently used, the muscle at the entrance relaxed and open. Her inner lips were visible—pink, puffy, slick with her own wetness. Her clit was swollen. Erect. Peeking from beneath its hood.

Her anal was the same. The ring was swollen. Dark. Relaxed. The muscle was soft—recently fucked, recently stretched, recently used. Old Tomas could see the faint redness around the ring—the evidence of friction, of penetration, of a cock that had been inside her ass for an extended period.

Her mouth—her lips were swollen. Her tongue was pink and wet. The corners of her mouth were red—stretched, used, recently wrapped around a cock that was too large for any mouth.

He had fucked her pussy. He had fucked her anal. He had fucked her mouth. And now he had just finished in the tub, fucking her from behind while the water splashed and the steam rose and the old man watched through the fogged glass.

Raven stood.

The water ran off his body. His cock stood rigid against his stomach—twelve inches, dark, veined, the head swollen and leaking. He stepped out of the tub. His feet hit the tile. He was naked. His body was lean. Muscled. The body of a man who had been forged by something other than human training. His skin was pale. His hair was black. Wet. It hung across his face. His violet eyes found Old Tomas.

He picked up a towel. He did not use it. He threw it—casually, without looking—over his shoulder. He stood before the old man. Naked. Wet. His cock jutting forward, the head dark and swollen, the shaft glistening.

He looked at Sera. She was still in the tub. Her body was visible above the waterline—her breasts heaving, her nipples stiff, her face crimson, her eyes wet. She was trembling. Her hands were covering her pussy—her swollen, freshly-fucked, gaping pussy—but her fingers could not hide it. The dark hair was visible between her fingers. The swollen lips were visible. The wetness was visible.

Raven reached down. He gripped his cock. He stroked. Once. Twice. Three times. Fast. Hard. His hand was a blur on the shaft. His balls tightened. His hips thrust forward.

He came.

The first pulse shot from his cock like a rope. Thick. White. Heavy. It arced through the steam and landed on Sera’s chest—on the slope of her right breast, running down the curve, pooling in the hollow beneath the nipple. The second pulse hit her collarbone. It ran down her sternum. Between her breasts. The third pulse hit her shoulder. It ran down her arm. The fourth was weaker—a dribble that leaked from the head and ran down his own shaft, over his fingers, dripping onto the tile.

"Clean it," he said.

His voice was flat. Casual. The voice of a man telling a dog to sit.

Sera’s hands left her pussy. She looked at the seed on her chest. She looked at his cock. She looked at his face—at his violet eyes, at his calm expression, at the absolute, unhurried authority in his voice.

She reached out.

Her hand found his cock. Her fingers wrapped around the shaft—her strong, calloused, fighter’s fingers, the fingers that had gripped a sword hilt for sixteen years, now gripping the shaft of a cock that had just been inside every hole in her body. She stroked. She squeezed. She milked the last drops from the head. The thick, white fluid ran over her knuckles.

She brought her hand to her mouth.

She licked.

Her tongue—pink, wet, the tongue that had wrapped around his cock, that had tasted his seed before, that had been trained in the last three days to know the taste of him—ran along her knuckles. She cleaned them. One by one. Sucking each finger. Her eyes were half-closed. Her cheeks were flushed. The drug was still in her system. The arousal was still there. The taste of his seed on her tongue made her nipples tighten further.

She swallowed.

She looked at the seed on her chest. On her breasts. On her collarbone. She scooped it with her finger. She brought it to her lips. She licked.

"It is delicious," she whispered.

The words were barely audible. They were spoken to herself. To the seed on her finger. To the cock in front of her. They were not meant for Old Tomas. But he heard them. He heard every syllable. Every breath. Every soft, wet sound of her tongue on her skin.

Raven pulled his cock from her hand. He walked to the old man. He stood before him—naked, wet, his cock hanging between his legs, still thick even when soft, the head dark and spent. He leaned. He put his hand on Old Tomas’s shoulder. The old man flinched. The grip was not painful. It was firm. Steady. The grip of a man who could erase shoulders.

He used Old Tomas’s clothes.

He used them to clean the remaining seed from the head. The thick, white fluid smeared on the old man’s butler like clothes.

As if telling him.

’Your granddaughter was delicious.’

"I am going to talk to your grandfather," Raven said. He looked at Sera. "Until then—"

He did not finish. He did not need to. He turned. He walked out of the bathroom. Naked. Wet. His boots were by the door—he stepped into them without bending.

His coat was on the hook—he pulled it on without buttoning it. He walked into the hallway.

Old Tomas stood in the bathroom.