"YES! CHIEF HUSBAND!"—her voice a wild song that echoed Sigrid's earlier roars, a melody of passion that seemed to shake the pines. Arielle's fingers moved faster, her core trembling, the plug a warm anchor as she neared her own edge, the shlick shlick a secret rhythm that bound her to the scene, her arousal a tide pulling her under. I want to feel that, she thought, her scholar's mind crumbling under the weight of desire, her body humming with a need that felt like a storm breaking over the hills. Lyan's hands roamed, one finding Tara's cave again, his fingers slipping inside with a shlick shlick that drew a sharp gasp, "Mmh!", her thyme-scented hair brushing his shoulder as she trembled, her brown eyes half-closed in bliss. His other hand curved over Lara's peak, teasing the tip with a pinch pinch that drew a sharp "Mmh!" from her lips, her lean frame shuddering as she rocked harder, the scrunch scrunch of her grip on the stone a desperate anchor.