He didn't hesitate. The time for words had passed; the air between them was filled with a tension that demanded release, that could only be found in violence or union. It was an event horizon.
Sol moved his hands to her hips, his calloused palms gripping the smooth, glowing curve of her waist. The contrast was stark and beautiful… He was a creature of the mud… scarred, rough, tanned by the savage sun, driven by a singular, pounding rhythm of blood and bone. She was starlight and divinity, a being of infinite complexity woven into a form of deceptive softness.
He looked down at the union they were about to make. His dark, vein-ridged hungry cock hovered against her pristine, golden sanctuary.
He guided himself to her entrance.
Isylia's breath hitched, her eyes widening as she felt the pressure of him… hot, searing hot, hard, and impossibly substantial… against her most vulnerable threshold.
