The rhythmic sway of her ass, the slick glide of her lust-coated thighs along his, the tantalizing brush of her ponut against him, and the symphony of moans blending with the melodious sounds of passion — it all went beyond Anon's expectations for the day. This was better than any fantasy he'd imagined, the whispers of guilt silenced by the triumphant chorus of lust. It was a primal need, an irresistible craving, and judging by Minuette's vocal delight, one she shared with every fiber of her being.