Allen drove into her again—harder this time. Her gasp turned into a guttural moan, and her knees buckled, but she didn't fall. Queens don't fall. They cling. Her royal grip trembled against the throne's gilded arms, knuckles white, arms shaking as Allen's hips clapped against her bare ass over and over, the sharp slap-slick echoing like a new anthem in the throne room.
Fina stepped forward, heels clicking against marble, slow and teasing. Her hand gently stroked Elira's head, who whimpered with her face still down near the floor, thighs wet and trembling from the sounds alone. Rinni sat herself on the steps beside the throne like it was a front-row seat to a sacred desecration, tail flicking lazily as she licked a finger and dragged it down her own thigh.
