And he gave it to her alright, driving her to greater and greater heights with each thrust of his hips. Sense and reason had long ago left her, driving away by the all-encompassing desire to let Calent lift her up and away from this world...
And he was doing a damned fine job of it.
And the rougher he got, the louder she became, and the more she offered herself up to him and gave it back to him. Her nails, at some point, had dug into his shoulders as she tried to pull him nearer to her writhing body.
By the time he invited her to take control, her brain was but a puddle of goo, and her body not much better -- and, yet, somehow, simultaneously wound so tight that at any moment, it might snap and send her into another orgasm.
She didn't fight him; she smiled down at him, an expression of triumph on her face, as though she had just conquered a gladiator in the arena...and now was about to fuck him before the crowd.
But if this was to be her show... Why play nice? "Yes, my Lord," she answered him so sweetly, so contrary to her wild appearance. And then, her eyes looking deep into his, she began to move, slowly, teasing, prolonging her turn into sweet suffering for her husband.
It was only fair.