His c**k lifted like a living thing, a declaration of purpose, water cascading off its length in shimmering rivulets. It didn't hang low between his thighs like something to be carried -- it jutted forward, full and proud and unignorable. Thick like a forearm. Veins raised and twisting like roots under skin. The head was flared and swollen, a deep, angry plum that looked almost too wide to enter anything without first demanding a kind of surrender Shannon had never even contemplated. Not clinical. Not cartoonish. Just real. And devastating. A weapon of biology. A piece of anatomy that made every other c**k -- even Craig's -- look like something from another species.
And she was still holding it.
Still stroking it.
Her fingers couldn't meet. Not even close. She could barely wrap halfway
