Her hands and lips danced up and down his body, leaping wildly from his throat to his thighs, lingering at the tip, the sides, the base of his monstrously swollen manhood, working their way back up again and then down once more.
Eventually there was nothing more that she could give him or take from him without his entering her. There was neither stranger nor slave girl now in the tent as she raised herself and then came down as Blade came up to meet her. There was nothing except two people, driven together by desire, driven to being as much animal as human.
The groans and the gasps were certainly animal. So were the writhings, the twistings, the heavings as Haleen pressed down and Blade pressed upward. So was the musk of passion that filled the tent, overpowering the smell of furs and leather and wood smoke. It seemed to Blade that the girl above him was even losing the shape of a human being. He was locked with a spirit, a spirit made tangible, exquisite flesh, but whose shape changed at every moment.
Suddenly Haleen's whole body jerked, bowing backward from the waist as violently as a whipcrack, bending so far backward that her head sank down between Blade's feet and her hair stroked his ankles with a thousand tiny brushes. Blade's blurred vision could clearly see her mouth clamped tightly shut and beads of blood creeping out along her lips as she held back her cries. He could clearly see the muscles of her pelvis and flat belly writhing and twisting as her climax charged them with an explosive life of their own.