Chapter 370: One Less.

"Bram—"

He’s going to—

I was still buried in her, rhythm broken, the surge locked at the base of me and climbing. Her pussy kept pulling — tight, wet, still spasming from her own climax — and every small involuntary clench of it dragged me closer to the edge I had almost held back from.

"Bram, wait—"

Her hands left my arms and found the back of my neck. Fingers locking hard at the base of my skull, pulling my face down toward hers even as her hips tried to twist under the oversensitive drive of my cock.

I held her hips flat to the tile and kept moving — short, deep strokes now, no room left for the long drag, just the wet heavy sound of me fucking her through the last of her resistance.

"Sto—"

Don’t you dare stop.

I can’t hold this. I have never once—

Her eyes squeezed shut. Mouth open. The mole under her left breast jumped with every broken breath.

Oh—

Her pussy clamped down hard. A full deep pull that ran the length of my cock and nearly finished me on the spot. I groaned into the space between her mouth and mine. Her fingers dug into the back of my neck hard enough to hurt.

"That’s not fair. That’s not—"

I gave him this. I said I’d give him a night and I’m the one—

I slowed without stopping — one long stroke out until only the head of me stayed inside her stretched pussy, the shaft gleaming, her wetness and the first thin white of what was already starting to leave me mixing on the skin — and held there until her eyes came open and found mine.

Finished.

"Bram—"

"I know."

"You don’t—"

"I know."

He knows. How does he—

Now now now—

I drove in to the base and let go.

[ Melissa Veyron. Marked. ]

"BRAM—"

The first pulse emptied into her hard enough that her whole body arched. Her pussy fought it — clenched, released, clenched again around the thick surge of cum I was pouring into her, as if her body couldn’t decide whether to take it or push it back.

I kept thrusting through the spill, short and deep, each stroke forcing more of it into her while her hands locked on the back of my neck and her mouth opened on a sound that had no word left in it.

—

—

Oh God.

Nothing after that. No words from either of us. Her thoughts came apart into something with no shape and no language, and stayed that way the whole way through — while I kept coming, pulse after pulse, her pussy spasming around every one of them, wet heat flooding until I felt it slip back along the shaft and run out of her around the base of my cock, thick and white against the flushed stretch of her lips.

Her hands slipped from my neck.

Arms dropped to the tile. Her body went soft under me in stages — thighs, stomach, the last tension in her shoulders — and she collapsed flat, eyes unfocused, mouth open, still taking the last few thrusts as the surge finally started to thin.

I pulled out.

The loss of her heat was immediate. My cock left her pussy in a slick heavy slide, and what followed it ran from her in a slow thick trail across bare skin toward the tile. I was still coming.

The next pulse landed across her stomach, white against pale skin and the dark line of the tattoo. Another across the soft underside of her breasts. She watched it without moving, chest rising in shallow pulls.

Then breathing. Only breathing.

And somewhere underneath it, small and far off and slowly putting itself back together:

What was that.

What did he just do to me.

I sat back on my heels. Cock still hard, still slick with her and with what I’d put in her, the last weak pulse beading at the tip and dropping onto the tile between her open thighs.

[ Melissa Veyron. Marked. ]

[ 3 remaining. ]

[ 2 of three are sources. ]

She moved before I did.

Slow. Unsteady. She rolled to her side, then got her knees under her, and crawled the short space of wet tile between us until she was kneeling in front of me. Her hair hung in dark wet ropes around her face. Cum ran down the inside of one thigh. She didn’t wipe it away.

Her eyes came up to mine.

Allow me.

No words out loud. Just the look — open, wrecked, asking.

She leaned in and took my cock in her hand, then in her mouth. Warm. Careful. She cleaned me with her tongue in slow passes, tasting what she had taken and what I had left on her skin, until the shaft was wet only with her mouth and the last of the sensitivity made my hand settle in her hair without pulling. She only stopped when I was clean enough that the air felt cold on me again.

She sat back on her heels. Wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her wrist. Looked at the mess of us on the floor and on her body and at the dead shower head above.

"Let’s bathe." Her voice was rough. Almost level. "I’ll wash the clothes after."

She reached for the taps. Cold water first — she flinched when it hit her shoulders — then adjusted until the steam started to lift again. The spray fell on both of us from above. What I had left on her stomach and breasts began to thin and run. She put her face under the water and kept it there for a long second.

I would do anything he asked right now.

I don’t care how I look.

Just tell me what you need.

I stepped under the water with her. The tile under our feet was still slick with everything we hadn’t washed away.

Across the corridor Sophia’s door was still unlocked, and the night was still not finished, and Melissa turned toward me under the spray with the practical face already trying to put itself back on — and failing, just slightly, at the edges around her eyes.