The rhythm of the room became a heavy, wet percussion, the sound of a goddess breaking herself against a sovereign. Meng Yan's movements were no longer calculated, they were the desperate thrashings of a woman drowning in pleasure. Her internal walls rippled around him like a tightening vice, desperate to draw every drop of essence from his form.
Slap. Squelch. Slap.
"Yes, my Lord... yes!" she cried out, her voice cracking as she drove herself down onto him again and again.
Shen Yu watched her with the detached, cold hunger of a king watching a territory burn. He reached up, his hands shifting from her breasts to her throat, his thumbs resting just beneath her jaw. He did not squeeze, but the weight of his hands alone was reminder enough of who held the leash.
"Look at me, Yan'er," he commanded.
