Her dress slid to the floor, revealing her beautiful, curvaceous body in the dim light.
Nathan sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes sweeping over Joice's entire form, his breath still ragged. She was a perfect vision.
Joice then approached him, gently pushing him until his body lay back upon the soft blanket. She climbed atop him, placing both knees on either side of Nathan's hips.
Woman on top. She was in control now, and she intended to wield it well.
She leaned down, giving Nathan a deep, passionate kiss before beginning to merge her body with his.
Her movements were fluid, practiced, and filled with intuitive knowledge of the male body.
She knew precisely how to sway her hips, how to embrace him, how to slow down and accelerate the rhythm to build pleasure toward its peak.
Her hands roamed over Nathan's chest, caressed his neck, or reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers.
Nathan lay beneath her, utterly mesmerized. He was a man who usually held control, always the protector, always the strongest. But here, in this bed, he willingly surrendered all control to Joice.
He surrendered to sensation, his hands grasping her hips, guiding her, urging her deeper. His gaze remained fixed on her—on the curves of her body as they moved, on the expression of concentration and pleasure on her face, on the way her lips parted slightly as her breathing grew heavier.
Joice looked directly into his eyes. This was not merely physical; it was a far deeper exchange.
In her eyes, Nathan could see her boundless gratitude, her desire to give him escape, and the seed of something more—something that might one day grow into love.
"This is for you," Joice moaned, her voice a breathy sigh. "Everything… for you."
Their rhythm grew wilder, faster, more urgent. Their breaths merged into one, a symphony of sighs and groans.
Their bodies fused, swaying together in an orchestration that delivered pleasure with every friction and thrust.
They were like two souls harmonizing, united in true beauty and ecstasy.
The feast of sensation was not yet over. After the first moment of release, waves of pleasure receded only briefly before building again with even greater force.
Joice, still astride Nathan, felt his strong pulse beating in sync with her own heartbeat. Desire was not yet satisfied; it was merely catching its breath.
With renewed determination blazing in her eyes, Joice pushed herself back into a seated position, still balanced atop Nathan. She didn't want this to end. She wanted to drown Nathan—and herself—in an endless ocean of pleasure. "I'm not done with you," she whispered, her voice hoarse with promise and anticipation.
She began moving again, but this time with a different intensity. Her sway was no longer fluid and sensual—it became wilder, faster, unstoppable.
Like a rider fused with her horse, Joice moved her hips with passionate, relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a declaration, each rotation a lustful expression of gratitude.
And Nathan… Nathan was the center of this storm. Every wild movement Joice made was possible only because of the foundation he provided. The hardness and length of his mighty shaft became the sturdy pillar upon which Joice rocked, the axis around which their world of pleasure revolved.
Each time Joice sank down, she felt Nathan's powerful shaft filling every corner, every empty space within her, penetrating her completely and perfectly.
It was not merely penetration; it was total fulfillment, a complete claiming.
For Joice, each friction was a pure electric spark. The sensation was so intense, so profound, it transcended mere physical pleasure.
It was a journey. Each thrust carried her higher, away from the gloom of her office, from Anton's shadows, from her fears for her future and her children's.
The world narrowed to just this room, this bed, and the man beneath her. Every touch of Nathan on her skin, every deep moan, every dark, admiring gaze from his eyes pushed her closer to the edge.
She felt pressure building again, far faster and stronger than before. It was like an inevitable tidal wave, triggered by her own frenzied pace and by Nathan's perfect presence inside her.
Heaven was no longer a metaphor; it was a tangible destination, and she was hurtling toward it at full speed.
"I… Nathan… oh my God!" she cried out, her voice shattered by gasps and panting breaths.
Her movements grew increasingly uncontrollable, wild, and rapid, driven by an urgent need to reach climax.
She tilted her head back, her neck elongated, eyes tightly shut in deep concentration. Her entire body tensed, every muscle trembling, awaiting the coming, inevitable explosion.
Then, it came.
Not like a wave—but like a supernova explosion that overwhelmed all senses.
A wave of convulsive pleasure so powerful swept through her, making her scream loudly—a sound filled with release, triumph, and absolute satisfaction.
Her body trembled uncontrollably atop Nathan's, shaken by waves of orgasm so perfect it felt almost shattering.
For several eternal seconds, she completely lost herself, swept away in a current of pure, extreme sensation, remembering only one thing: that she was safe, desired, and satisfied.
Slowly, the wave receded. Tremors in her body faded into gentle ripples, then ceased. All strength left her limbs. With a weak, satisfied moan, she collapsed from atop Nathan, rolling to his side.
Her body was limp, every muscle feeling like jelly. Her breath still came in ragged gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She stretched out her hand and gently reached for Nathan's, intertwining their fingers atop the now-damp blanket.
She closed her eyes, a tired yet deeply satisfied smile gracing her swollen lips.
"Heaven," she whispered, barely audible, before sinking into contented silence.
Nathan watched her collapse with awe and burning desire.
Witnessing Joice climax so wildly and completely was one of the most erotic things he had ever experienced.
He felt her body's contractions, heard her cries of satisfaction—and it nearly pushed him over the edge too. But he held back. His instinct told him this was not the end. This was merely a pause.
In a moment, the next round would begin—and he had to be ready to match, if not surpass, what had just occurred.