CHAPTER 6

ISLA

A coil—warm, solid—slid between my legs, pressing into the soaked fabric until I moaned without meaning to.

“I—stop—”

Your body says different.

Another tendril curled around my waist, pulling me back so my ass arched against it. My palms pressed to the cool porcelain.

“You can’t—this is my job—”

You’re thinking about it

I bit my lip, hard, but the images slammed into me anyway—thick length stretching me open, the relentless bounce, the glowing ...