The pleasure palace smelled like women and cultivation and the particular incense that Tianlong's palace had been built around — something from a cultivation resource four realms above this continent's ceiling, burning slow in jade holders along the garden walls.
It smelled like occupation.
Like a space that had been claimed and used and was still in the process of both.
PAH! PAH! PAAH!
The sound came from the far end of the garden, near the stone fountain, where Tianlong had migrated at some point in the last hour with no particular announcement and several women in his immediate vicinity.
The MILF from the festival — she had learned, in the time since her arrival, that lying still on the silk was not a sustainable position, that the palace had opinions about stillness, and that her body had apparently finished its period of shock and moved into something more cooperative.
