"Druski! Oh god, harder! Don't you dare stop!" Monet wailed, her head tossing from side to side.
Her legs, toned and powerful, suddenly whipped around my waist, her ankles locking behind my lower back like a vice. She was pulling me in, trying to bridge the gap, her body demanding every single millimeter of the invasion. The tighter she held me, the harder I drove, bottoming out with a force that made her stomach ripple with the impact.
Her screams were no longer controlled; they were primal, ragged, and filled with a desperate passion. She was no longer the calculated mob boss who moved men like chess pieces. She was a woman drowning in sensation, her internal muscles pulsing and clamping around me in a frantic attempt to catch the rhythm.
"That's it, Monet! Take it all!" I growled, my sweat dripping onto her chest, mixing with the sheen of her skin.
