His name on her lips was a catalyst. Julian's controlled rhythm began to intensify, each thrust deeper, more purposeful. The initial, reverent pace gave way to a raw, primal need that mirrored the one he was stoking within her.
Fey's world narrowed to the feeling of him moving inside her, the weight of his body, the scent of his skin. Her moans grew louder, less restrained, echoing in the quiet confines of the tent.
Her blunt nails scraped down his back, leaving faint red trails, a mark of her surrender and her own rising passion. Her body arching to meet his, seeking more, seeking everything.
"Look at me," Julian commanded again, his voice rough with his own restraint.
Her eyes, glazed with pleasure, fluttered open, locking with his. In that deep, dark gaze, she saw not just cold calculation, but a fierce, possessive fire that was entirely for her in this moment. It was the final push she needed.
