Five hours later, the room was still shrouded in twilight, only the faint light of dawn peeking through the curtains. The air remained heavy with the sweet-sour scent of sex, sweat, and possession.
On the bed, Victor and Serafall's forms intertwined in a slow, continuous movement.
Serafall was on top, riding him with a persistence bordering on the supernatural.
Her body, covered in a thin layer of sweat that glistened in the dim light, moved in a sensual and deep sway.
Her breasts swayed with the rhythm, her hard, sensitive nipples brushing against his chest with each descent.
Her hands rested on his chest, her fingertips pressing lightly against his flesh, as if measuring the accelerated heartbeats that echoed beneath her skin.
Victor's penis was buried deep inside her, swollen and hard as a rock, throbbing with a vitality that showed no sign of weakness. The connection between them was so intimate, so constant, that it seemed to have become a natural state.
