The door closed behind Hina, leaving Nash alone in the room. The silence was thick, broken only by his own shallow breathing and the muffled thump of his heart against his ribs.
He lay sprawled naked on the rumpled sheets, the scent of sex, sweat, and Hina's cloying perfume hanging thick in the air.
His body felt like lead, useless, betraying him utterly. His cock lay flaccid against his thigh, sticky with a mixture of her arousal and his own spilled precum, a pathetic testament of his utter helplessness.
Humiliation.
He felt something inside him, something strange. It wasn't a hot rage. Not yet, but a colder, deeper sensation. A slow seep of ice water into his bones.
He'd been played, tricked, used, like a fucking toy. And worse, he hadn't even been able to respond. Not physically, not mentally, not verbally, not any kind of 'lly'.
He had been a living sex toy for an idiot who outplayed him in a game he didn't know he was playing.
