He was right. He had told her five minutes. It was five minutes. Lin Ruoli had barely managed to close her eyes, her mind a whirlpool of static and shame, before she felt his hand on her hip again. He didn't just stop. He had paused.
The sun, which had been a promise of a new day, climbed the sky, hit its peak, and began to sink again, painting the room in the warm, bloody colors of sunset. And through it all, he had not stopped. He was a force of nature. A storm that had no end.
By the time the sun was setting again—a full twenty-four hours after he had started—he finally, finally, stopped for good.
He pulled out of her with a final, wet, sucking sound that made her whimper. He rolled off the bed, his body a map of lean, powerful muscle, completely unaffected. He wasn't even breathing hard.
