The stone corridors of the lower palace wing were cold and damp, but inside the laboratory quarters, the air had turned into a thick, suffocating fog of raw, carnal ecstasy. The rhythmic, wet sounds of flesh slapping violently against flesh echoed off the high, ancient walls, punctuated by the high-pitched, melodic shrieks of the siren.
Robert was no longer the timid, stuttering assistant from Heathwat. Driven by the ancient, predatory currents of Deliah's desire, he had lost all sense of his former self. He was positioned at the edge of the mattress, his broad shoulders gleaming with a thick layer of sweat under the dim violet light. His hands, large and trembling with a sudden, dominant surge of masculine power, were locked beneath Deliah's knees, hoisting her pale, iridescent legs high up into the air, pinning them against her chest.
