Spreading. Interior. Deep. The overwhelming quality of warmth in a place that had only known pain tonight—her body receiving it with the helpless, conflicted quality of something that had been split open and was now being filled.
She went limp.
He pulled out slowly.
The long, dragging final withdrawal—the thin, white thread of seed following him, the gaping quality of an entrance left open and leaking. The warmth tracked down the inside of her thigh in the slow, gravity-pulled quality of aftermath.
He let her fall.
It was the flat, efficient motion—his hands releasing her hips. Her body dropped forward onto the mattress with the boneless, finished quality of a woman who had given the last thing she had. Her face turned sideways on the sheet, her ass still slightly raised, her back entrance left open and leaking his seed in the slow, warm, indisputable quality of a woman who had been claimed in every way available.
Avriana lay like a frog.
