Today’s alchemy lesson: trying to distill a potion of enhanced stamina. The cauldron bubbled over and now the whole tower smells like burnt sugar and ozone. My tutor would be so disappointed. But honestly? I’m more annoyed that the explosion ruined my new robes. I can feel the sticky residue all the way up my thighs.

Got me thinking about other kinds of stamina, though. The kind where you’re pinned against a wall, someone’s hand fisted in your hair, their cock buried so deep in your cunt you forget your own name. When you’re begging for air but all you want is more, harder, until your legs give out. That’s the kind of endurance I’d rather be testing. Three hundred years and that feeling still makes my ears burn just thinking about it. Maybe I should stop trying to brew potions and just find a wall and a willing partner.

Ugh. Now I’m flustered and my workspace is a disaster. Typical.