It sealed the room for every ear in it except one. Viktor leaned back against the grown wall, arms folded, and let the elegant elven privacy magic wash over him and do absolutely nothing, and privately rated it a seven out of ten for construction.
But that was the least of what was happening to him, because the hut was small, and Nymeria had been pacing it for two minutes, and the pheromone-sense he had been cultivating for a year was delivering its report on the aunt in exhaustive detail.
She was magnificent.
Thick in the waist, enormous in the chest, her bodice creaking softly with every agitated turn, her skirt swinging across hips that moved like weather systems.
The milf architecture of her was elven polish laid over a body that belonged in a much less elegant story, and his cock twitched in his trousers, and hardened, and began to press firmly against the warm soft thing it was already holding.
The warm soft thing, of course, being Vespera Thorne.
