Lira's voice cracked. Her thighs squeezed tight around him for a single, desperate second, then released, shaking. Her fingers whitened on the headboard.
Further down the same body—a body that appeared entirely unconcerned about the logistical complexity of the arrangement it was currently managing—Ytrisia.
'Purple hair.' 'Wide, violet eyes currently sealed shut, the lashes damp.' 'Her body: substantial, generously built, the kind of architecture that needed no architectural assistance to draw the eye.' Her heavy breasts—full and pale and unbound—moved with her, swaying and bouncing with each drop of her weight as she rode him in the specific posture that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Her broad hips pumped. Down, then up, then down again—the motion of a woman caught between wanting to stop and being entirely incapable of stopping, her purple hair swinging forward with each descent.
'Squelch.'
The sound carried even through stone.
