Wait… What?

Havermouth, Present Time, 1.5 weeks after Retaking Havermouth From the Van Helsings

Aislen lay naked with Rhett on his bed, stroking her hands over his skin, following the subtle lines where the ink was heavier, whilst she suckled on his neck, his blood metallic on her tongue. It was the nicest way to counteract any water ingested during their shower she thought, though her stomach rumbled its protest wanting pancakes not juice of Rhett for breakfast.

“You could go lower,” he suggested cheekily covering her hand with his and gently encouraging it down his stomach to where his cock nudged her stomach optimistically.

She freed her hand and stuck her fingers into his mouth for him to suck. “Shh, you. I’m not having sex again before breakfast,” she smeared his saliva over the mark on his neck, sealing it. By the time they dressed, there would be no sign of it left. “So, tell your friend to relax,” she patted his cock before rolling over and off the bed. “He’s had his fun for the morning.”