Ouroboros's body was ablaze, every nerve, every pore screaming with pleasure and need. The cold wall of the shower stall contrasted sharply with the searing heat that grew where their bodies met. Strax heeded her command—his hips pounded with almost brutal force, each thrust deeper, more possessive than the last. The sound of wet skin slapping, hoarse moans, and cascading water created a primal, uninterrupted symphony.
He held her tightly, his large hands gripping her thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he lifted and lowered her in rhythm with his thrusts. The angle was perfect—each movement struck the most sensitive spot inside her, causing white visions to explode behind her closed eyelids.
"Like this... exactly like this..." she hissed, her voice a hoarse thread of ecstasy. Her hips began to shake frantically, trying to keep up with his relentless rhythm, seeking more friction, more depth, more of everything.
