Arathiel had never known a human body could move with such speed. He felt as though he were being shattered and remade with every strike. Despite the intensity, a fierce, desperate part of him never wanted the moment to end. He wished they could remain locked in this dark, violent embrace forever.
A searing heat began to pool in his abdomen, a heavy ache tightening with every thrust. He fought against the sensation, trying to hold back his own climax because he was not ready for the intimacy to end, but his body had long since abandoned his will.
He came with a strangled, soaring cry that echoed off the concrete walls. Even as the last of his fluid fell onto the sheets, the Lord did not slow down. He continued to drive into Arathiel with punishing force. Arathiel felt his senses reel, his skin hypersensitive to the point of pain.
Suddenly, the Lord reached down and captured Arathiel's shaft in his hand, tugging in perfect sync with his thrusts.
