Page 66 of Torrid Passion
With a grunt, I shoot off like a rocket in orbit. My orgasm plows through me like a herd of wild horses.
“Oh, Loki! Loki! Loki!” And I’m back to chanting the name of the man who’s unraveled me so beautifully.
I come so hard, I swear I’m about to grow wings and fly away.
It’s so all-consuming, my head tilts so far back, I’m able to admire Loki. The expression on his face leaves me in awe. It’s a cross between pain and pleasure.
“Christ!” he shouts. “Oh, fuck. Kylaaaa.” He grunts so loud, his cries wash out my desperate moans.
I collapse against my folded forearms.
The pulse of his release is long, his pelvis slamming against me, ratcheting a flurry of sensations.
I’ll never forget this night for as long as I live.
It takes several long seconds before my thoughts are coherent again. No matter how many times I coax myself, I can’t seem to control my trembling body.
“That was insane,” Loki says, running a hand down my back.
That was surreal.
There’s nothing left of me. I can’t even respond. I’m too busy relishing in the post-coital waves of pleasure rolling over me.
“Kyla?”
I turn my head so our eyes meet. “Huh?” I’m still panting hard.
“Are you okay?”
I’m dancing with angels.
“Hm.” I don’t even know what language that was.
“How are you feeling, Kyla?” he urges.
Exhausted. Spent. Dead to the world. And content like never before.
The words crowd my head, but I’m still too high from my climax to speak them.
Loki sits up, lifts my body and pulls me to his chest before wrapping his arms around me.
“Did I work you too hard?” he asks.
I can hear the concern in his voice.
I respond with a cross between a head shake and a nod.
“Talk to me, gorgeous,” he pleads.
A billion words flutter through my mind, stumbling over each other, but I can’t capture any of them, except for, “Thank you…” …for properly honoring my pussy.
