Chapter 33
Her knees tightened, ankles locked at the small of his back. She drew herself up, her claws digging holes in the bricks; crumbles of dirt and rock pattered against the ground. At last he slid within her warm depth, hot, wet, velvet muscles clenched around him.
“Dirty little puzzle,” he groaned, her hair in his mouth, lips against her forehead.
“Dirty.”
They moved together. There was nothing graceful about it, the twist of bodies, dirty and sweaty, together. The noises they made were not musical; grunts and squeals and the mad, toneless peal of her laughter. Molten, inviting depths and he plundered her, taking from her gems and gold, leaving her with dross.
Or, at least, that was his intent.