He pulled her close.
And she mounted him, taking his still-hard length with a gasp and a moan that echoed through the canopy.
Her pace was different than Lucy's Fierce, hungry, deep. She rode him with power, with need, with a demand that made the throne shudder beneath them.
He gripped her hips, fingers digging into her skin, meeting each thrust with a force that sent her over quickly, her cry sharp and raw, her orgasm blooming like lightning through the golden storm.
As she collapsed into his arms, Grace and Stella approached next.
Then Sophie.
Then Emma.
One after another, they came to him.
Offered themselves.
Loved him.
And he loved them in returnfully, completely, without hesitation or restraint.
Hours passed.
Or maybe minutes.
Time didn't matter here.
Only sensation.
Only truth.
