She let go, her hips bucking, the waves intense, so strong her sheath clamped down on him, and then the flames reached his balls and the seed boiling there. As if she’d touched a match to a stick of dynamite, he erupted, a long explosion, jet after jet splashing the walls of her sheath, triggering even stronger ripples in her. They rode it out together, soaring, shuddering, their hearts keeping that same wild rhythm. Andor realized that he liked being out of control. He’d spent so many centuries with complete discipline, he never thought that he would be able to let go the way she made him.
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