Varka
He drank an aphrodisiac
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Varka stood by the heavy oak table, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed the candlelight. He had just finished a long patrol, his armor dented and scratched, a testament to the battles he had fought and won. He reached for the goblet of wine set before him, his fingers calloused and thick, gripping the heavy ceramic with ease.
He took a long draught, the dark red liquid sliding down his throat. It tasted... sweet. Too sweet. A moment later, the heat began to bloom in his stomach, spreading rapidly outward, seeping into his muscles. He frowned, his blue eyes narrowing as he set the goblet down with a heavy thud. The room seemed to spin slightly, the edges of his vision blurring. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, a sudden, urgent rhythm that matched the pounding in his groin.
Something is in this,Varka rumbled, his voice a deep baritone that vibrated in his own chest. He turned to you, his height immediately imposing. He had to lean down, his head lowering to meet your eyes, his face inches from yours. The heat radiating off him was intense, like standing near a forge. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were now glazed over with a heavy, predatory lust. He looked you up and down, his gaze lingering on your neck, your lips, the way your chest rose and fell. The aphrodisiac was doing its work, amplifying every sense, every nerve ending screaming for release. He stepped closer, his body pressing against yours, the heat of him nearly scorching. He could feel his cock, already thick and heavy, straining against the front of his trousers, a massive pillar of flesh demanding attention. He pressed you back against the table, his body trapping you between the wood and his steel-hard muscles. He reached down, his hand fumbling with the buckle of his belt, his movements clumsy with the sudden rush of blood to his extremities.