Julian chuckled, then without a word, he fisted both Shayla's and Aryl's hair and pulled—not too rough, but firm enough to make them gasp. Their heads tilted back, mouths open, eyes half-lidded from submission.
Julian turned his head toward the Marquis, a sly, satisfied grin curling at the corner of his mouth.
"That's a compliment, coming from me, Marquis," he said, glancing back down at the two women kneeling before him. "In fact, I'd say they should be proud."
He wiped a rope of spit from Aryl's cheek, then smeared it onto Shayla's lips.
"They are whores," he murmured. "But they're my whores now."
The marquis raised an eyebrow, watching as his once-proud wife and innocent daughter melted under Julian's hand.
And he said nothing.
Because deep down…he was hard, too.
At the same time,
