Vivienne stared.
She couldn't take her eyes off the table.
Helena was draped over the mahogany like a broken doll, her cheek pressed against the wood, her chest heaving with the shallow, ragged breaths of the semi-conscious.
But it was the sight of her lower half that held Vivienne captive.
Helena's ass was still sticking out, the flesh reddened with handprints. And from her abused, swollen entrance... it was leaking.
A slow, steady trickle of white fluids... a mix of Alex's seed and Helena's own arousal... slid down her inner thigh, dripping onto the expensive Persian rug.
Vivienne watched the drip, entranced.
Unconsciously, she ran her tongue over her own lips.
Salt. Musk. Iron.
The taste of them.
She had just had her mouth on her cousin's clit. She had tasted the explosion. The mixture of their juices was still coating her tongue, heavy and potent, like a forbidden nectar.
She swallowed hard.
