The warm, heavy silence in Haruto's tiny apartment was shattered only by the soft, wet sounds of Misaki's own arousal. Her mind was a storm of pure, filthy hunger. She had kissed him. She had ridden his half-hard cock with her dripping cunt. Now she wanted more—much, much more. The psychiatrist who had spent the last hour secretly watching him drain another woman dry couldn't get enough of the lonely young man beneath her. She wanted to drown in him. She wanted him to taste every drop of her like the drug it was.
Without a sound, Misaki slowly—agonizingly slowly—climbed over his face.
