You shudder against your Lelo, flipping yourself over and scooching up onto all fours, imagining his hands, pressing to your flesh as they move you, shaping you to his will.

His fist gripping, pulling your hair, forcing you to look up into the wardrobe mirror, to find his eyes, purposeful and possessive, reflecting their light from behind you, impassioned and brightly lit.

Greedy fingers snag at the gusset of your knickers, tugging the fabric, stretching them aside, his grip tight in your hair, his bone hard cock splitting you open, stroking deep. You cry out into your reflection, begging him to come.

Your eyes surrender to his, wet with their submission, you’re losing all control, unraveling from within, your body softening, weakening with the ravaging of such a good, hard and dominant fucking.

You shudder against your Lelo, your clit igniting with sparks of pleasure, muscles convulsing as they spasm, a dam bursting, warm waves of cobalt-blue water come flooding through your senses.

Collapsing to the bed, clumsily fumbling to find the button you silence the thrumming, gasping in the stillness, listening to your Bayham body, “sensing fables of my return”.

Resurrecting the memory of him coming inside you, the raw vibrations of your love locked in the bruises he left beneath your skin, your bond braised with his in the marrow of your bones. Knowing the myth might wear away, but the truth remains, revealed.

“Remembering where our love is made…”

Your inner thighs ache for his ink, where imagined glyphs and runes wait to be written. Your fingers slick and forever stained, standing in the ruins, where your love remains, wet with ash and cinder.

“Now put this promise to the flame!”