Patricia's body still quaked with aftershocks, a trembling ruin sprawled across the sectional, limbs heavy as if forged from molten lead. Her pussy, swollen to a raw, glistening crimson, lips parted and pulsing, throbbed with the ghost of her climax, slick and sensitive, each faint breeze a torturous caress. Her throat was shredded, voice reduced to a rasp of broken glass, but a deeper, ravenous hunger clawed at her core.
Twenty-three years of invisibility, of cold, mechanical thrusts from a man who saw someone else, had left her starving. She needed to be claimed, body and soul, seen.
