Then she straightened again. Returned to short, punishing bounces. Faster now. Harder. Using him like an object designed for this single function.
Mahir writhed.
Head thrashing again. Claws flexing and retracting. Tail whipping so violently it knocked a glass of water off the nightstand; the crash went unnoticed. His breathing had turned into harsh, open-mouthed pants—each exhale edged with a whine he couldn't suppress.
He was shaking apart.
And still he held.
Still he obeyed.
Elara felt the orgasm coiling in her belly—tight, sharp, almost painful in its intensity. Magic surged in answer—blue-white light licking beneath her skin, traveling down her arms, pooling in her palms where they pressed against his chest. The collar responded in kind—glowing brighter, drinking the excess, preparing to channel.
She rode through the first wave of it. Then the second. Let it build until her vision tunneled, until every nerve sang with electric tension.
