His cock was in her throat, and he was thinking about how good this felt.
Not just the warmth of it — the wet, tight, comprehensive grip of Eliantra's throat around him, the way her walls worked involuntarily around his shaft with each gag reflex, each swallow, each desperate attempt her body made to manage the situation it was in, her esophagus rippling and massaging him with rhythmic, choking heat that milked every inch as thick strings of throat slime coated him completely. That part was good. That part was excellent.
But the other part.
The mirror.
Elena's face in it.
That was making his cock harder than anything else in the room, pulsing thicker and hotter inside the spasming tunnel as forbidden taboo power surged through his veins.
