His cock hung between his thighs — still heavy, still thick, the crimson length of it glistening with what the two of them had produced together, the head still flushed and full. Not soft. A sex demon does not finish in the way a human man finishes — the edge had been crossed but the mechanism had not stopped, the arousal still running at baseline, the cock still present and interested and pointing with mild but genuine attention at the frozen body above him.
He looked at the woman who was not a husband.
She hung in the stopped time in her final configuration: shirt open and hanging from her shoulders, small tits bare, nipples hard from the chill or from what his tongue had done to her clit, trousers at mid-thigh, underwear pulled down. Her face forward. Her jaw set. Her tears on her cheeks.
And Rika between his feet and hers — limp, wrecked, unconscious, lying exactly between the legs of the woman she loved without knowing it.
Raven tilted his head.
He reached up.
