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Anne matched him, her body answering his with equal desperation. Her raw and unrestrained moans filled the room. Every thrust pushed her to the edge.

"Faster," she urged.

That single word shattered whatever restraint he had left.

Augustine gripped her hips tightly, almost bruisingly, anchoring her beneath him. His rhythm was relentless. He drove into her harder, deeper, faster — desperate to merge their bodies, their hearts, their very souls. His hands roamed possessively — gripping her waist, sliding up her trembling sides, palming her breasts.

Anne could feel his desperation, his hunger, the almost frantic edge to his passion — and it thrilled her. She gave herself over completely, surrendering herself to his fierce love.

Anne felt the pressure blooming inside her, a sweet, unbearable, dizzying pressure. The tension spiralled out uncontrollably.

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"Augustine!" Her body convulsed around him, her mouth parting in a cry of pure pleasure.

Augustine watched her face, watched her fall apart beneath him, and it drove him insane. He wanted to see her shatter. He needed it.

With a rough groan, he captured her lips again, plunging his tongue deep as he drove harder into her, giving her everything he had.

Augustine’s jaw clenched tightly as he fought against the tidal wave of pleasure building inside him. He watched her under him — the way her body moved with his, the way she moaned and arched to meet his thrusts, the feel of her — it tipped him over the edge.

Nothing had ever made him feel so alive, so powerful, so utterly, devastatingly in love.