Minutes had passed, but time had become meaningless in the sweltering, sweat-soaked haze of the bedroom. The room still reeked of sex, the sharp tang of arousal mixed with the heavy musk of their bodies.
Aveline was no longer fighting him; she was no longer fighting herself. She had been pushed past the point of resistance into a state of complete, helpless surrender.
She lay flat on her back now, her legs spread wide and vulnerable, her body quivering from the residual aftershocks of her previous climax. Her arms were stretched above her head, fingers buried deep into the fabric of the pillows, gripping them so hard her knuckles were white.
She was holding herself open, bracing herself for the inevitable return of the torment she now craved.
PLAP. PLAP. PLAP.
