The air in the studio was thick enough to taste a heavy, intoxicating cocktail of salt, musk, and the overwhelming scent of spilled seed. Mike lay there for a moment, his massive chest heaving like a bellows, his skin glistening under the studio lights.
He pulled back slightly from Ellie, looking down at her. Her face was a beautiful wreck; her eyes were hooded and glazed, her lips were swollen and wet from their frantic kissing, and her cheeks were flushed with a feverish, post-climax glow that only served to make her look even more ravenous.
He saw the hunger still burning in her eyes, the way her hips were still twitching rhythmically against the mattress, desperate for the friction to return.
"You think you're done, Ellie?" Mike teased, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that sent a fresh shiver down her spine. "You think you can just lie there after what we just did?"
