The quiet reverence shattered.
She pulled him down, deeper, faster, her legs locking tighter behind him, urging—demanding—more. And Parker obliged. The restraint left his eyes, and what replaced it was hunger. Not animalistic, but divine. A craving forged in lifetimes, centuries of being apart, now melting into this bed, into these sheets, into her.
He gripped her waist, and with one hard, devastating thrust, the room seemed to tilt. Her gasp became a cry, back arching as he slammed into her again, and again—slow no more, reverent no longer. She was his. He was hers. And the gods would watch.
"Parker—!"
Her voice cracked, a whimper, a scream—she didn't know anymore. She couldn't breathe without him inside her now. Couldn't think. Her hands clutched at his hair, his shoulders, his back, leaving red trails from where she raked her nails down, gasping as his hips snapped against hers with punishing rhythm.
She wanted more. Needed more. She took more.
