Artis woke up the next morning looking like a man who had fought a war and lost, sprawled out on the bed like a homeless drunk—except someone had thoughtfully draped a bedsheet over his wrecked body.
'Mommy must've done it… How sweet…'
Even after getting her insides rearranged by his monster cock, she still had the presence of mind to tuck him in like a good little housewife. That was some next-level devotion right there.
He smirked, stretching lazily.
'I should give her a sweet little kiss for this… But… how's she even gonna look me in the eye after last night's performance?'
And then there was Lui.
Oh, poor, pathetic Lui.
Artis wasn't exactly worried about the cuck—fuck no. He was just curious.
The man had been on the verge of a mental breakdown last night, guzzling booze to numb the pain while watching his wife get absolutely wrecked by another man.
