Priya was exactly where he had left her an hour ago, knees pressed into the velvet ottoman, torso draped forward across the bed, her sheer red lehenga bunched around her waist like a discarded thought. The new plug he had inserted after their temple visit was thicker, longer, its widest girth a full four fingers across. He had worked it into her slowly, patiently, whispering filthy promises against her spine as her asshole had stretched and burned and finally, mercifully, accepted the intrusion. Now the ruby base sat flush between her cheeks, a jeweled punctuation mark at the end of his sentence.

But her cunt. Her cunt was a disaster of need.