---
The first roll of her hips was tentative, uncertain. The second was more confident, drawing a low groan from Sekhmet's throat. The third was hungry, a deep, deliberate grind that made both of them gasp.
"Is this… right?" she asked.
"Whatever you feel… is right," he managed.
Elena found her rhythm. She rode him with growing confidence, her hands pressing against his chest for leverage, her thighs flexing as she rose and fell in slow, wet strokes. The friction was incredible, her inner walls dragging along every ridge of his shaft, each stroke coating him in her slick desire.
Sekhmet watched her move, his eyes half-lidded, his blood was on fire with lust.
She moved above him, this Mid-Rank Goddess who had never known passion, and she was beautiful in a way that made his chest ache. Her breasts bounced with each motion, her nipples tight and rosy, the rock shadows of the Void Land casting her in pale black.
"You are staring," she said breathlessly.
"I cannot help it."
