One minute. That's all it takes for her to c*mpletely undo me.

Aphrodite on her back, legs wrapped tight around my waist, pulling me deeper with every slow, deliberate thrust. But it's not the rhythm that gets me it's her face. Those half-lidded eyes, dark and hazy, struggling to stay focused on mine. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, trembling, releasing just as a soft gasp escapes. Then her mouth falls open, and that's when I lose it.

Her moans start low, breathy, almost shy a quiet "ah" with every push forward. But as I sink deeper, they change. Sharper. Needier. That desperate l*ttle hitch in her throat right before she lets go c*mpletely. Each sound is different, unpredictable, c*mpletely real. No rehearsal. No fake rhythm. Just her body responding to mine in ways she can't control.

Her cheeks flush pink, spreading down her neck. Her brows knit together, that perfect mix of pleasure and surrender. And when I h*t exactly the right spot, her eyes roll back, her nails dig into my shoulders, and that moan long, shaky, broken tells me everything I need to know.

Her legs squeeze tighter, pulling me in, begging me not to stop. Her head tilts back, exposing her throat, lips parted, breath quick and uneven. I watch every micro-expression the way her nose scrunches slightly, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips, the way her gaze flickers between my eyes and where we're joined, like she can't believe how good it feels.

This is just one minute. But in that minute, she gives me everything every moan, every flush, every desperate l*ttle sound that proves she's c*mpletely lost.

Aphrodite's face. Her moans. One minute of pure, unfiltered devotion.

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