Lucy's hands reach upwards looking for the headrest, a pillow, anything to keep herself anchored.
She's convinced her body would be catapulting away if she didn't.
Owen noticed the restlessness above despite his own frenzy. He reached for her breast and played with it like jello.
Lucy found the anchor he needed in Owen's hands as she clutched onto it and held it there, feeling every grab, every squeeze as if she was doing it to herself.
It wasn't long until she felt the brewing lava in her stomach. She is closing a cliff she had reached before. Except it was in the privacy of her own room and the cliff has never been this height. Not even close.
