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Coups de cœur Cultura
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A tower filled with spellwork that smells of ozone and desperation. Mira's silhouette slices through guttering torchlight, thin and predatory. Alden lunges for her, and she flees behind a pillar with sweat and something wetter glistening on her thighs. He catches her, clamps her hips — and suddenly he's not chasing anymore. He's serving.
Mira stands in knight's armor that hugs her tits and hips like a lover's grip, her stance screaming take me or fight me. Alden's hardness twitches at both. She tells him to serve as commanded but questions whether his splendor is meant to be admired or possessed. He ends up on his knees, the oracle reduced to a man begging with his mouth, while she orders "spend for me" in a voice that brooks no refusal. The chamber is destroyed, the air torn apart by the stink of sex, and her armor clanks as she stands with a cold realization twisting in her stomach.
