Altair had awoken writhing as if a seismic wave had come to topple his house. His fingers dug into the bedding as his Sword Maid devoured his morning wood. He gripped her head, his mind spinning faster than he could perceive, planting his seed deep in her throat. He groaned, a trail of sweat gliding down his brow to soak his pillow.
"Fuck!"
Tasha's face was flushed as she cleaned his manhood, finally laying it to rest beneath his robe.
"Done!" she said, though the hungry look in her eyes suggested she wanted to be mounted and fucked.
Altair wasn't sure whether he should be angry or impressed, but he found himself yearning for Syris's tender lips back home. If she were here, then perhaps he would feel at peace. It had been far too long since he had last laid his eyes upon her.
