''He's hitting the—'' The thought didn't complete. The thing it was trying to describe wasn't describable, just 'felt,' the full-depth press against her deepest wall that lit her entire lower body simultaneously with the particular electric shock of cervical contact.
''Why does he always — every time — why does my body just—''
Her tail had wrapped around his waist.
Tight.
Viktor hooked his forearms under her thighs.
He lifted her.
Bella left the wall.
She was 'up' — fully airborne, sitting impaled on him, his hands under the backs of her thighs, her feet off the floor, her back to his chest, her body now the only anchor keeping her from the ground. Her tail tightened instinctively. Her hands found his arms and gripped.
He 'walked.'
