Chapter 300: [300] "Swaying with every drop" (R18)

She got up and walked to the sink to rinse her mouth, expecting a kiss. Wanting a kiss.

She ran back as soon as she was done.

Luc closed the distance, pressing a lingering kiss against her mouth. "I take whatever angles are available to me."

The kiss deepened, the apologies and the scheduling conflicts dissolving into the warmth of the contact. Juliette shifted, pushing him gently backward until he was lying flat against the mattress.

She crawled over him, the white robe slipping off one shoulder, exposing the smooth skin beneath. She braced her hands on his chest, looking down at him with an expression that was equal parts affection and undeniable hunger.

"If I am going to pack my bags and fly across the ocean for you," Juliette said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper as she lowered her hips against him, "you are going to have to make it worth my while this morning."

Luc reached up, his hands finding the knot at her waist, pulling the robe loose with a single tug.

"I think I can manage that," Luc promised.

The robe slid off her shoulders, pooling at her waist before she shrugged it down her arms and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. Morning light came through the gaps in the blinds in thin gold bars, striping across her upper body, the soft underswell of her breasts and the line of her stomach.

She was bare above him, unhurried about it, and the confidence of that never stopped doing things to him.

Juliette reached between them, palming him through his boxer briefs. He was already thickening, half-hard against her hand, and she squeezed him once. "Mm. Someone woke up optimistic."

"Someone has you crawling on top of him," Luc said. "You can get me like this anyday."

"Until I decide you’re ready." She hooked her fingers in his waistband and dragged the fabric down his hips, and he lifted himself to help her, shoving it the rest of the way off with his feet until it vanished somewhere over the edge of the mattress. His cock settled against his stomach, flushing dark, filling as she watched.

She ran a single fingernail up the underside of him, base to tip, feather-light, and his abs jumped.

"There he is," she murmured. She swung a leg over him and straddled his thighs, sitting back on her heels, not lowering herself yet. Just looking.

Her hair was still a mess, dark waves escaping the knot, and her eyes had that focus he recognized, the same steady attention she gave a scan, except now it was aimed at his body with considerably less clinical detachment.

"You’re staring a bit too much," Luc said.

"I’m thinking about a few things to do with you." She leaned down and kissed his sternum, then his throat, then his jaw, her breasts dragging against his chest. "We fly across the Atlantic in a few. I intend to send us off properly rested and properly drained."

She kissed him properly then, slow and deep, her tongue sliding against his while her hand slipped between their bodies and wrapped around his cock. She stroked him in long pulls, feeling him harden fully in her grip, the head swelling fat against her thumb.

He groaned into her mouth, his hands finding her hips, thumbs pressing into them.

She was wet already. He could feel the heat of her when her inner thighs brushed his, and when she shifted her weight forward, her pussy dragged a stripe up his shaft. She was well soaked.

Last night’s sex, the apology, the promise of America...apparently all of it had pooled into this morning.

"Condom?" she asked against his lips.

"Do you want--"

"No." She said it quickly, already lifting onto her knees, making him wonder why she asked in the first place. "I want to feel you. All of you, this morning, before we belong to a different country." She reached down and held him steady, guiding the blunt head of his cock through her folds.

Once, twice, coating him in her wetness, nudging him against her clit until her breath stuttered, then she positioned him at her entrance and began to sink.

Agonizingly slow, on her terms, in total control of every millimeter. Her pussy stretched around the fat crown of his cock, clinging, and they both watched it happen, her head tipped forward, her hair hanging around them like a curtain, his hands locked on her hips hard enough to leave marks.

"Fuck," Luc breathed. "Jules--"

"I know." Her voice had gone thin. "I know, I--" She sank another inch. The tight grip of her walls parted around him inch by inch, wet and scorching, and her mouth fell open on a silent sound as her body swallowed more of him than it seemed it should be able to.

He was thick, and she was tight despite everything, the fit was the kind that made both of them feel lightheaded.

Bottoming out at last, she sat fully on him, his cock buried to the root, her ass resting against his thighs, her clit crushed against the hard plane of his pelvis. They stayed like that, both of them panting, foreheads touching.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. God."

"Take your time."

"No." She shook her head, and her hips gave an experimental roll. "No. You don’t move unless I say."

"Understood, Jules."

She lifted herself up. She rose until only the head of him remained inside her, her inner thighs trembling faintly with the effort, then dropped back down with a wet slap that knocked a grunt out of both of them.

Again. She found the rhythm fast, rising and falling on his cock, bouncing on him, her breasts swaying with every drop, her nails digging crescents into his chest.

The room filled with it. The creak of the mattress springs, the lewd clap of her ass hitting his thighs, the sloppy sound of her pussy swallowing him over and over, her breath coming in sharp little cries on every downward stroke.