She freed her fist. Not by overpowering his grip — by going limp. Her entire body relaxed simultaneously. The sudden deadweight shifted her center of gravity downward, his hand on her hip lost its leveraged grip for one second, and she dropped — sliding off his cock, her feet hitting the floor, her legs buckling, her body rolling sideways.
She came up swinging.
Her qi blazed. Early Nascent Soul — full output, every meridian open, her cultivation base pouring through her channels in a raw, unfiltered torrent. Her fist connected with his jaw. Her foot followed — a spinning kick that carried her entire rotational momentum. Her palm strike came third — the same technique, the same discharge point, aimed this time at his throat.
Three hits. All landed. All three dispersed against his body like rain against a mountain.
He stood there.
His cock, wet with her arousal and his cum, hung between his thighs. Twelve inches, still erect, twitching slightly with his heartbeat.
