He leaned his full weight into her, his hips pinning her head to the dirt, effectively turning her into a living, breathing piece of furniture designed solely for his pleasure. The movement was primal, a relentless, grinding lunge that forced her jaw to its absolute limit.
Ignivara felt as though she were being pulled apart by two different forces, one pulling her mind into a void of pure, unadulterated shame, and the other pulling her body into a vortex of overwhelming, liquid ecstasy. She was a dragon being broken not by fire or steel but by the sheer, unmitigated weight of a man's desire, a man who was turning her very anatomy into a temple of his own making.
The world had ceased to be a place of trees, dirt, or sky. For Ignivara, the universe had shrunk to the diameter of a single, pulsing, vein-riven pillar of meat.
