Naruz's voice cracked with raw need, the plea spilling from her lips like a dam breaking.
"Please, my king... fuck me. Use my pussy like it's hers. Make me your stand-in whore."
Her eyes locked on his, wide and desperate, tears of lust glistening at the corners. Her massive breasts heaved with each ragged breath, nipples stiff peaks scraping against the remnants of her torn tunic. Pinned against the chamber wall, her thighs trembled, slick juices coating her inner skin and dripping onto the cold stone floor. The air hung thick with her scent—musky, fertile, begging for invasion and Byung had every intention of doing just that.
Byung's fingers clenched her thigh, nails biting into green flesh, making sure her skin remembered she was his long after . He sensed her pulse racing through her pulse, her composure melting with his touch: fear of irrelevance twisting into feral hunger, visions of Maui's muscular form fueling her submission.
