Her head sinks lower and lower as her muscles tighten and contract, only to release in a powerful orgasm that squeezes my cock so forcefully, it pushes me over the edge too. For endless seconds, my release seems to empty inside her as I dig into her hips, undoubtedly leaving finger marks behind. My eyes fall shut, and it takes a minute to catch my breath as I wonder what the hell just happened. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life.

When I open them again, something about Ivy's head looks odd. Her hair is hanging so low the tips are skimming the floor now, and her neck is bent at a strange angle. When I pull out of her and release her hip, her entire body falls slack against the one cushion holding her up.

Panic blurs the edges of my vision as I rush to help her.

"Is she okay?" the courtesan asks.

"Untie her ankles," I order as I reach for her head. It's heavy in my hands, and I know it's the mask. I remove it with uncoordinated fingers, shielding her face against my body as I work on her hands next.

The woman manages to free her ankles, and I dismiss them both, telling them to leave us as I scoop my wife's limp body into my arms.

"Ivy." My voice has an edge of desperation I don't seem to recognize as I carry her to a padded bench and drape her over it. "Ivy, please."

After a few moments, she begins to stir, blinking slowly as she comes back around.

"Ivy." I squeeze her hands in mine as I lean over her, trying to examine her eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."

It takes her longer than I'd hoped to speak. She licks her lips and glances up at me in confusion. "I must have fainted."

She closes her eyes again, and a stray tear rolls down her cheek. Another swiftly follows, and whatever liquor was running through my veins when I decided to bring her here has quickly evaporated. I've never felt as sober as I do when I survey the damage done to my wife. She is pale and weak, barely able to move or speak. Her hair is a tangled mess, cheeks stained with tears, and her wrists and ankles are red from the chafing of the ropes. She looks a miserable sight, and it hits me unexpectedly. I am the one who did this.

"Ivy."

"Take me home." She turns away, refusing to look at me.

I feel out of sorts as I untie my cloak and drape it over her body, securing her in a cocoon as I cradle her against my chest. She doesn't protest when I carry her into the courtyard and back to the waiting car, but she still won't look at me either.