“I’m going to feast on your cunt,” he whispers, so close that I feel the words slide down the slope of my neck, “until you come down my throat.” His voice is low, dangerous, and somehow still calm, like a storm on course for land. My pulse roars in my ears. “And then,” he growls, “I’m going to flip you around and fill you from behind. Hard. Deep. Until we are both writhing and shaking with a desperate release so primal and feral it’ll echo in the walls of the OtherWorld.”
