The obsidian throne became an altar. Vivienne collapsed backward onto the velvet, emerald hair fanning like spilled blood, her thighs falling open in a gesture of absolute surrender. I descended—not between her legs, but onto her.
My shoulders pinned her knees wide, my hands gripping the soft undersides of her thighs, holding her spread, exposed, vulnerable.
The firelight gilded the glistening folds of her cunt—swollen, dark pink, weeping arousal onto the black velvet beneath her. Her scent hit me like a physical blow: thick, musky honey mixed with the salt of sweat and the faint, electric tang of her earlier release.
I lowered my face—not gently, but with the deliberate grace of a god claiming sacrifice. My breath ghosted over her exposed flesh, making her entire body jolt. A broken whimper escaped her lips. "Eros—please—"
Then I struck.
