Fated to the Queen
My Queen is the god’s ambrosia.
“Lorcan, I need more, please. I need you,” Kimarhi begs.
With her pleas of ecstasy, I insert two fingers into her core curling to that good spot. I vigorously finger her slit and massage her swollen button with my mouth. Kimarhi thrashes and pulls at my hair. Her pleasure is my praise. I slow and make her explode with a roar that shocks me to full attention. Not wanting to waste my reward, I drink of her desperately, growling in approval. She goes limp, panting heavily, reaching out for me.
Bab Populer