Chapter 239: Deeper

He held still inside her until her breathing evened.

Sarah’s hands loosened on his shoulders, then slid down his back, palms warm against his skin. Her eyes were open, dark, fixed on his face.

The narrow bed had gone quiet under them. Outside, the lane made no sound.

When he finally began to move it was slow deep strokes that filled her completely, withdrew almost fully, then pressed home again until his hips were flush against hers.

She moaned into his shoulder on every thrust, the careful silence of the blue house forgotten in the thin walls of Madame Rossi’s room.

"Look at me," he said.

She did. He fucked her steady and thorough, one hand braced by her head, the other gripping her hip hard enough to dimple the soft flesh.

The wet sound of their joining filled the small space slick, rhythmic, unmistakable. Sarah’s breasts moved with each stroke, full and heavy, nipples still tight from his mouth.

He leaned down and took one into his mouth again, sucking while his hips kept their rhythm, tongue flicking the peak until her fingers dug into his back hard enough to leave marks.

The years sat in the room with them and did not matter. What mattered was the heat of her around him tight, clenching, so wet he could feel it on his thighs the way her breath broke when he angled deeper and dragged over the place that made her gasp, the flush spreading down her throat and across her chest.

He kissed her while he moved slow and open, matching the pace of his hips and she kissed him back like she had stopped rationing herself, tongue and teeth and small desperate sounds swallowed between them.

"God Liam"

He slipped a hand between them and found her clit, rubbing firm circles timed to his thrusts.

She was swollen and slick under his fingers. Sarah’s head tipped back against the pillow. Her thighs tightened around his waist.

When she came the second time it was sharper than the first a broken cry muffled against his skin, cunt clamping down hard around his cock in strong pulses, her whole body shaking under him.

Clear wetness slicked his shaft and the insides of her thighs. He fucked her through it without stopping, slowing only enough to keep her from tipping into discomfort, grinding deep while she trembled and clenched and gasped against his throat, eyes unfocused, mouth soft and open.

He did not finish.

He eased out of her carefully. Sarah made a soft, protesting sound at the loss, thighs closing for a second as if to hold the feeling in. Cum and her own release shone on her skin.

He kissed her once, deep and unhurried, tasting her moan, then guided her onto her side. She went with him, pliant, one arm under her head, hair stuck to her temple with sweat.

He lifted her top leg, settled behind her, and rubbed the head of his cock through her soaked folds before pushing back into her from behind in one long, relentless stroke.

The new angle dragged a fuller moan out of her raw, unguarded.

He held her against his chest, one arm under her neck, the other hand splayed over her soft stomach, and fucked her in deep, rolling strokes that bottomed out every time.

His cock dragged along her front wall with every thrust. Sarah reached back and gripped his hip, nails biting. Her breasts moved against his forearm.

Every stroke drew a sound from her that she tried to keep small and could not fully control half moan, half broken breath, muffled into the pillow when it got too loud.

"Don’t don’t stop"

"I won’t."

He rubbed her clit again while he moved, firm wet circles matched to the pace of his hips.

She was soaked, open, trembling, the filthy slide of him inside her loud in the quiet room.

The bedframe knocked lightly against the wall; he slowed just enough to quiet it, then kept the same deep rhythm, hips snapping flush against her ass, until her breathing fractured into another climax longer this time, shaking, her face pressed into the pillow to keep the sound in.

Her cunt clenched around him in strong, rhythmic pulses that milking him as she came. He held her through it, still buried to the hilt, forehead against the back of her shoulder, feeling every tremor run through her body into his.

Only when she went soft and pliant in his arms did he let his own control slip.

A few harder thrusts deeper, rougher, the wet slap of skin on skin. The tight heat of her. The way she pushed back to meet him even spent, fingers still hooked on his hip, ass pressed flush against him.

He came with a low, rough sound against her skin, flooding her while her body still fluttered around him, holding her tight through every thick pulse. He ground against her through it, emptying himself deep inside her, until there was nothing left but breath and the beat of his heart against her back and the warm slick of his cum leaking out around his cock.

For a long moment neither of them moved.

Sarah’s breathing slowed against the pillow.

His hand rested on her stomach, feeling the residual tremor in her muscles. When he finally eased out of her she made a small sound and did not pull away.

Cum slicked her thighs and the sheet beneath them in a warm, messy trickle. The room smelled of sex and salt and the faint detergent still clinging to her hair. Outside, a scooter passed in the lane and faded into the dark.

He lay behind her and pulled her back against his chest. She laced her fingers loosely through his without looking back.

Their breathing found a rhythm together in the narrow bed. The night air moved the thin curtain at the window. Somewhere far off a dog barked once and stopped.

"I should go soon," she said, voice rough.

"Not yet."

She didn’t argue. Her thumb moved once across his knuckles. The careful woman from the kitchen was still there, somewhere under the flush and the mess and the spent weight of her body against his but she was not leaving yet.

Outside, the lane stayed quiet. Inside, the narrow bed held them both, the night still unfinished, her hips shifting slightly back against him in the dark, the second wave already waiting in the quiet between one breath and the next.