He stalks her in the night, in the hour of the wolf, rising up out of the past to taunt her, to inflame her irrational desires, her unyielding obsession for him, her hunger for possession, for the rough kiss of masculine flesh, for the hands that will pin her to the frame with the slightest effort, for the fingers that will part the softness of her thighs, for the burnished glans that will fill her and fuck her so completely, so savagely she will cry out, curse his very name, her body releasing the flood, her cunt clutching, coming hotly over his naked cock, her juices flowing over his shaft, saturating the ebony suiting, her scarlet nails digging, drawing the blood on his back, marking his flesh with the passion, the hatred that courses even now through the woman shattering the dark silence.
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