Slowly, the orgasms started blurring together.
There was no clear line between one peak and the next anymore. Sometimes Veylara clamped down in hard, rhythmic milking spasms that tried to suck him deeper, her whole body locking up as a raw cry tore out of her.
Other times she gushed so hard the moss beneath them turned dark and wet, the sudden rush of her release coating his cock and thighs while she shook and gasped through it.
Every time one orgasm finished she only seemed more desperate for the next, as if the strange fire still burning in her core refused to let her come down.
She kissed him with open mouths and biting teeth between the waves, rolling her hips to meet every thrust, taking him as deep as her body would allow without any of the earlier stiffness or confusion.
The proud Warchief had fully surrendered to whatever had woken up inside her, and she chased every new peak with aggressive hunger.
Sol fucked her through all of it.
