Suddenly, she began to speak, in a guttural, hoarse, moaning whisper. “The august god found her as she slept in the beauty of her palace. She awoke because of the savor of the god, and she laughed in the presence of his majesty…”
Ryan, lost in his own orgiastic madness, only partly heard her, and that part he didn’t understand, or at the moment, care about. His steady, pounding pace didn’t falter. Steam, lust and sweat blinded him. He cupped one of her dangling breasts, squeezing the desire-hardened nipple.
“He came to her straight away. He was ardent for her. He gave his heart unto her, let her see him in the form of a god after he came before her.”
Krysty lifted her face from the cushion of her forearms. Between clenched teeth, she hissed, “She rejoiced in beholding his beauty. His love went through her body, then the majesty of the god did all that he desired with her. She let him rejoice over her. How great is your fame!”
Her body suddenly stiffened. Back arching, she propped herself up on her elbows. She tossed her head, whipping her long, damp tresses back and forth. She sobbed, “You have united me with your favors! Your dew is in all my limbs!”
She convulsed and shuddered in a spasming orgasm so fierce and unrestrained that even Ryan was surprised. He felt her inner muscles rippling around and massaging his rigid cock with an amazing, insistent strength.
He knew from long experience it was useless to hold back when she exerted that extraordinary control. He trembled in a contraction, pressing his lower belly against her buttocks as he burst deep inside her, an eruption of liquid fire that seemed to last forever. He gripped her tightly by the waist to keep himself seated within her as his hips jerked back and forth in an explosion of orgasmic energy.
Gasping, Krysty sagged beneath him, collapsing facedown on the floor. Ryan fell forward, supporting himself above her by quivering arms, straining briefly against her upturned backside, unwilling to accept he had spent himself within her clutching heat. Slowly, his senses returned to him and his hips stopped moving.
Krysty’s breath came out in a heavy, prolonged sigh of release, then her sigh became a sudden, sharp intake of shock. She lifted her head, looking over a bare shoulder at him, her wet hair plastered to her face, only one wide green eye visible.
“Ryan?” Her voice was high and wild with anxiety and confusion. “What’s going on?”
It took a moment for the strangeness of the question to penetrate Ryan’s postclimactic fog. She squirmed away from him and sat up quickly, raking her hair from her face, staring around in a near panic.
“How did I get here?” she demanded, fear and suspicion mingling in equal measures in her tone.
Ryan frowned. “I guess you walked.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts. Haltingly, she said, “I was asleep. Last I remember was lying next to you. I was asleep.”
Ryan moved toward her. She scooted away, eyeing his softening penis distrustfully. His first flash of irritation faded when he realized she was genuinely confused—and frightened. Softly, he said, “Mebbe you sleepwalked.”
Krysty forced a half smile to her face. “Somnambulist sex? That’s a new one for me.”
Ryan chuckled, getting to his feet, extending a hand toward her. “First time for everything, lover.”
For a moment, Krysty appeared reluctant to take his hand. She reached out, caught it, and Ryan pulled her up, holding her against him. He tried to kiss her, but she averted her face.
“Something’s wrong,” she said in a troubled whisper. “I was too exhausted to move, much less do what we just did.”
Despite the heat, Ryan felt a chill tiptoe up the back of his spine. What was left of his erection vanished. “What are you saying?”
Almost stammering, she replied, “I remember doing what we did…but it was like I was somebody else…or you were somebody else.”
Krysty pushed him away, hugging herself. Goose-flesh pimpled her arms, and she shivered. “Something controlled me, like I was a puppet, testing my…sexual responses…seeing what I could do, what I would do.”