The air in the bedroom was thick, heavy with the cloying, musky scent of sweat, expensive perfume, and the unmistakable, primal aroma of spent seed and female nectar.
Hours had bled into one another, the transition from twilight to deep night marked only by the rhythmic, violent thudding of the bed frame against the wall. The meticulous, composed Elizabeth Von Starlight was gone, buried under layers of sheer, unadulterated lust.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
She was on her hands and knees, her spine arched in a desperate, trembling curve, her head hanging low as Rex hammered into her from behind. Her hair, once perfectly coiffed, was a damp, tangled veil that clung to her flushed skin.
The bed—Alexander's bed—was a battlefield of their passion; the sheets were no longer crisp but sodden and heavy, dark with the massive amounts of semen and squirting fluid they had been pumping into each other for hours.
