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Chapter 7-2
I lift, I turn, I look. I come. With my eyes trapped in his tormented gaze, I come. An orgasm that feels like years in the making pulls tight and snaps, shuddering wave after hot wave of release through my cunt and belly and thighs. It chases itself down to the soles of my feet, curling my toes, and it thrums down my arms and hands and fingertips. It pulls at my chest and throat, stealing my breath, and it has me arching and twisting like a wild thing, writhing so hard that two sets of big male hands can hardly keep me still. It’s agony, delicious agony, the primal brightness that’s the source of all pain and all pleasure; wordless, dire, beautiful. Animal. Necessary. Here there is nothing—no thing, no time, and no space that isn’t the spark of life itself—every thought and tormen
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