The sounds were cracked, raw, and entirely helpless.
Cruxius didn't touch her. Not yet.
He just sat there on the cold hospital floor, his dark eyes locked intensely on hers. Cold. Calculating. His handsome face remained perfectly calm, but his large body was coiled tight with tension. Radiating pure power.
His dress shirt stretched taut over his broad, muscular chest, the fabric flexing with his suppressed breathing as he simply watched her fall apart on top of him. A rogue strand of dark raven hair fell lazily over his brow, making him look sharp and wild.
Beneath her, his heavy cock strained angrily against the dark fabric of his tailored slacks, thick and waiting. She rutted against it shamelessly—soaking the expensive material with her slick juices, her swollen folds grinding heavily along his impressive length.
She was essentially fucking herself on his clothed thigh, her brilliant mind completely reduced to nothing but animal heat and base instinct.
