[The coldest empresses who had ruled for ten thousand winters, the most untouchable celestial beauties whose skin had known no heat since the dawn of creation—they melted beneath his touch. The ice encasing their hearts cracked like ancient glaciers calving into the void. The frost between their divine thighs thawed in an instant, slick and inevitable.
Gods—immortal, omnipotent, proud—watched helplessly as their eternal consorts, their sacred wives, their moon-pale companions crumbled at the hands of a mortal boy.
Host's touch delivers the absolute zenith of pleasure—the pinnacle a woman's body can endure. No mortal man compares. No memory of divine congress compares. No god compares. The lightest contact ignites desires buried beneath centuries of frost; arousal blooms violent and undeniable, a wildfire racing through veins that had long forgotten fire.
