Lyra was riding him like a woman possessed, her hips bucking against his, her long blonde hair flying around her face like a golden halo.
She was a wild thing in this moment, all raw passion and untamed desire, her moans echoing across the ravaged training field.
Alaric gripped her hips, his knuckles white, his own rhythm becoming more frantic, more demanding, mirroring her escalating frenzy.
"That's it, Mother," he growled, his voice rough with exertion, his ruby eyes fixed on her face, watching her pleasure build.
"Ride me, ride me hard. Show me what you've got." He reached up, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs flicking across her nipples, teasing them mercilessly as she bounced up and down on his shaft.
Lyra cried out, her head thrown back, her neck arched, exposing the delicate skin to his gaze. "Oh, Alaric… dear son… I'm… I'm close…" Her voice was a ragged whisper, her breath coming in short, gasping pants.
