"'Then take it,'" Tianlong said. Calm. Informational.
She took it. Hard. Her hips ground down, finding the angle, her cunt clenching around him in that particular desperate rhythm—
But his attention had moved.
Yu Xiang was in the water. Had been since the beginning. She floated at hip depth to his left, just off the ledge, watching the woman with the specific expression of someone who has been watching something long enough to have developed opinions about the pacing.
Her hips—and they were 'substantial' hips, the kind that required a second thought and possibly an apology, wide and heavy and soft, flaring from a narrow waist like a sentence that expands past what the line can hold—were at surface level, trailing lazy ripples.
She caught him looking.
She moved closer.
