Whether this wild animal had always been inside of Anne Boleyn, waiting and wishing for just the right sort of rough, demanding man to set it free, or whether Charles' ravaging manner had inspired the woman to such heights of wantonness, didn't matter in the end. All that did were the end results: the stained, tangled sheets, the sweat and come-spilled bodies, and the panting breaths that followed yet another ship-shaking round of fucking.

By now, Charles could scarcely separate the feelings that Anne was using to bring him off-- it all combined into a haze of pleasure, one that caused pressure to rise up through his body almost too quickly for him to warn her.

"Coming--" he managed to grunt, before his cock swelled between Anne's tightly sealed lips. Fingers curling tightly into fists at his side as he started to spurt again and again.