Ankyra Sound This is it, the apocalypse.

she unfolded for him as he folded into her. his grip around her curves tightened. they rode the waves of each other like two voyaging ships intersecting, his vigor crashing into her yielding frame while she cambered from the motion of his wave decay. two as one they were forces of nature, coinciding as designed; connecting, synergistic—untiringly voltaic. 

as the minutes of their tryst lapsed, each propulsion wrought from his hips felt more urgent than the last—a drawn, softened note rising to its prolific crescendo. in the heat of the moment, he fixed to scruff Nyx at the nape of her neck and draw back her head, then with feathered nips delivered to the tender flesh of its erogenous zones, persuade her body to sing with him, to surrender to the sensations of climactic pleasure that began eclipsing his focus and effusing his lower belly with an undulating warmth.

his pelvis stirred against her in convulsions, spending himself in her as he came to nature's most profitable conclusion.