Within seconds, the painkillers hit—his body relaxing, breathing evening out. The sedative dulled the shock. The healing pill stopped the infection, stabilized blood loss, and kept him alive long enough to regret everything.
His eyes fluttered open—groggy, unfocused—then sharpened as the reality hit.
He looked down at the charred, sealed stumps where his hands used to be.
Then, at Camilla—kneeling topless beside him, massive tits bare and swaying, blood and tears streaking her face and dripping onto her dark nipples.
Then at me.
He tried to speak—voice raw, broken.
"It's… all because of you… you… motherfucker…"
I grabbed Camilla by the waist—yanked her up against me—her naked, heavy tits crushing to my chest, fat nipples scraping my shirt.
I kissed her hard—claiming, brutal—tongue forcing past her lips while my hand slid down to grope her thick Mexican ass again, squeezing the marked cheek so hard she whimpered into my mouth, hips bucking forward against my thigh.
