Sensual syncopation showered her, riding up her spine to crash into her soul. His head vibrated with desire, wound tight against her rim, resonating through her very veins as her shell contracted, responding to the rhythm of the heat. Slow groove turned rapid staccato, back again to plodding, torturous beat, she hopelessly caught in his snare. Yet he would not let loose with that final roll, that beautiful double bass ballad that would see her desire splash across measure and melody. No, he would wait – he would see her, hear her beg for him, shout for his crescendo. His will is done as she does what is bidden and all is set free in a tempetuous tempo, both trembling with tremors of their thirst, slaked only when the final surge sends them off the meter, syncopation sated.
Until the next swell sends them undulating once again.