Celia's body trembled with anticipation, her breaths quickening to a feverish rhythm as beads of sweat trickled down her forehead.
Her legs, once so tightly clenched, now parted of their own accord, her body begging for the sweet release that Gon's touch could provide.
In the back of her mind, a primal urge was growing, a desire that transcended the boundaries of inhibition, a need to be taken, to be possessed, to be made whole.
Gon, reveling in the sweet torture of delayed gratification, played with Celia's body like a master musician would a finely tuned instrument, his fingers coaxing melodies of pleasure from her trembling limbs.
She had resisted him, her reluctance a challenge that he had savored, the thrill of the chase heightening the intensity of their moment.
And now, with her writhing beneath his touch, her body yielding to his every caress, he allowed himself to linger, to prolong the exquisite agony of anticipation.
