The libraries of Nazarick hold countless tomes of forbidden knowledge, but right now my fingers itch for a different kind of script—the kind written in flushed skin and desperate moans. Not the submission of fear, but the willing abandon of pleasure. I want to trace every inch of a shivering body with my tongue, tease every sensitive nerve until they're begging me to fuck them senseless. There's a particular art to making someone come undone with nothing but your mouth, to feeling their thighs tremble around your head as their cunt pulses against your tongue. Tonight, I crave the symphony of uncontrolled pleasure—the gasps, the whimpers, the way a body arches when it can't take any more... but still begs for it anyway.