"Or maybe you don't want the toy," Hyacinthe said, voice ragged. Everything around him was warmth and wetness - that excess of saliva just made it slipperier and therefore sweeter - and he knew better than to think he had long. "Maybe you don't even want me to fuck between your sweet breasts. Maybe you want me to pull out of you mouth, push you facedown into the mattress, and fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked in your life."

He thrust into her extra deep then, her chin against his sac an extra torment, they were so high and tight and sensitive.

The first thing he was going to do when this was all over was gather her into his arms and teach her the word for 'magnificent' in all the languages he knew.