The silence in the supreme VIP suite was heavy, filled only with the ragged, wet breathing of Ya Su and the satisfied hum of Alaric.
Three hours.
For three entire hours, the intermission had stretched on, a span of time that felt like an eternity to the Chief Auctioneer of the Gilded Lotus. She was kneeling between Alaric's spread legs, her mahogany hair a disheveled curtain around her face, her jaw aching with a dull, throbbing persistence. Her plump, red-painted lips were swollen, slick with the evidence of her "service," and her throat felt raw.
She had drained him. Or at least, she had tried. But the man was a monster. A bottomless well of vitality. Every time she thought he was finished, every time she swallowed the thick, hot evidence of his climax, he would simply harden again within minutes, his hand pressing down on the back of her head, guiding her back to her task.
Now, finally, he seemed sated. For the moment.
