Her curse hung in the stagnant, musk-heavy air of the hut, a ragged, desperate thing that bounced off the wooden walls. But Sol didn't recoil. He didn't offer comfort or retreat. Instead, he used the venom in her voice as the signal.
The teasing was over. The time for games, for the cruel dance of denial and approach, had passed. The hunger inside him… a beast fed by years of neglect and ignited by the sudden acquisition of power… had grown too large, too violent, to be contained by the flimsy leash of patience any longer.
He adjusted his grip on her hips, his fingers digging deep into the soft, yielding flesh to anchor her firmly against the pile of furs. He could feel the tremors racking her frame, the way her body betrayed her defiance. Her pussy was pulsing violently against the sensitive underside of his cock, weeping hot fluids that dripped down to slick his balls, greasing the path for what was to come.
