The master suite had become a temple of utter debauchery, a sacred altar dedicated to raw, primal lust. Dawn's first light slipped through the heavy velvet curtains in thin golden blades, illuminating the battlefield of tangled limbs, sweat-slicked skin, and sheets so thoroughly ruined they clung to the bed like battle flags soaked in victory.
Aiden reclined at the center like a conquering god-king, his long white hair a wild halo, golden eyes still glowing with the feral satisfaction of a predator who had feasted without restraint.
Catherine, Sabrina, Luna, Flora lay sprawled around him in various states of blissful collapse—bodies trembling from the final, relentless onslaught. Their pussies gaped slightly, leaking thick, pearly rivers of his seed that pooled beneath their hips and ran in slow rivulets down trembling thighs.
