But she didn't move away.
Her thighs pressed together under the sheets.
Her nipples stiffened under his touch, even bound.
Her body said something her mouth refused to voice.
And Vex smirked—his eyes dark, golden, hungry as a beast that already knew the answer.
"You asked," he said, voice thick with desire. "You said you weren't better than her, didn't you?"
His thumb dragged slowly over the hidden nipple, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles—feeling it pebble harder, poking stubbornly through the cloth wraps and cotton like it wanted to breathe, to be known.
"Do you even know what makes a woman better, Maira?"
His hand squeezed—possessive. Claiming.
The breast pushed back, flesh pressing against his fingers like dough swelling against constraint—lush, resilient, curved like a hidden blade beneath silk armor.
It wasn't just size—it was structure. A kind of plump mass that held shape even when pressed, as if her very body refused to yield completely.
