Chapter 110: | Fucking After Milk II R18+

“Harder,” she said.

Not a request. He pulled back until only the head of his cock rested inside her, then drove forward. Her whole body lurched up the bed. A framed print above the headboard — something abstract, gray and blue jumped on its nail.

“There you go.”

Her voice was wrecked already, low and gravelly. He reached around her hip and pressed two fingers to her clit, slick and swollen under his fingertips, and she made a sound that started as a gasp and ended as a growl. Her back arched. Her head dropped between her shoulder blades.

“You want to stay like this?” he asked. His voice didn’t sound like his own. Thick. Tight.

“No.” She pushed back against him, grinding. “I want you to bend me over.”

He pulled out and she moved before he could, rolling onto her stomach, then pushing up onto her hands and knees. Her hair hung loose around her face, dark and tangled. The curve of her spine made a shape he wanted to memorize. The hollow of her lower back, the swell of her ass, the wet gleam of her thighs. She looked back over her shoulder at him, eyes half-lidded, mouth open.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

He knelt behind her. One hand found her hip. The other took a fistful of her hair at the base of her skull — not gentle, testing. She let out a breath through her teeth. Her hips tilted back.

“Pull it,” she said. “Don’t ask.”

He tightened his grip and pulled her head back until her chin lifted. Her throat stretched. The angle of her spine went tighter, a bow drawn taut. He pressed the head of his cock against her entrance and slid in slow — all the way, until his hips met the back of her thighs, until his balls rested against her clit.

“Fuck,” she hissed.

He didn’t wait. He pulled her hair with every thrust, her head snapping back each time, and the bed slammed into the wall with a regular thud-thud-thud that matched the rush of blood in his ears. Her ass bounced against him — soft, heavy, perfect. He brought his free hand down on it. The crack was loud. Her whole body jerked forward and a moan tore out of her throat.

“Again,” she breathed. “Do that again.”

He did. The second slap left a pink flush that bloomed under his palm. She clenched around him — hard, deliberate, like a fist — and he almost lost it right there. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and slowed down, breathing through his nose.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she said.

“I’m not stopping.”

“Good.”

He fucked her harder. The headboard knocked — thud, thud, thud and the lamp on the nightstand rattled. He pulled her hair tighter and she pushed back to meet each stroke, her rhythm matching his until they weren’t two separate motions anymore. Her thighs were slick. His thighs were slick. The room smelled like sex and sweat and the faint ghost of her perfume.

“Reach around,” she said, voice cracking. “Your hand.”

He let go of her hair and slid his palm over her hip, down across her belly, into the wet mess between her legs. His fingers found her clit and pressed flat, circling hard. She bucked. A string of sounds came out of her that weren’t words — broken, raw, building.

“Right there… right there… don’t you fucking stop.”

He didn’t. His fingers kept circling, pressure steady, and his hips kept driving. She was trembling now — small constant shudders through her thighs and lower back. Her arms gave out. Her face dropped onto the mattress and her ass pushed higher, deeper into his thrusts. He grabbed her hair again, twisted it around his fist, and pulled her head up off the pillow just enough that he could hear her.

“I’m close,” she gasped. “I’m so… I’m…”

“Let go.”

“Pull harder.”

He yanked her hair. She screamed,muffled against the sheets but real, sharp and her whole body locked. Muscles clenched around him in waves, one after another, squeezing and releasing so tight it dragged a moan out of his chest he couldn’t hold back. She gushed against his hand, hot and sudden, running down his wrist and dripping off his fingers onto the sheets.

He kept fucking her through it — slow at first, then fast again, her body limp and shuddering beneath him. When she finally went quiet and still, he let go of her hair and braced both hands on her hips.

“Where do you want it,” he said, breathless.

She turned her face to the side, cheek against the mattress, eyes closed. “Inside.”

“You’re sure?”

“Damian.” Her voice was hoarse. A warning. “Inside.”

He thrust once, twice, three times, then buried himself to the hilt and held. The orgasm rolled through him heavy and hot, pulse after pulse, and she took all of it without moving, her back arched, her breath coming in short bursts against the sheets. When he finally pulled out, she collapsed flat onto her stomach. A thin line of his cum ran down the inside of her thigh.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. The lamp hummed. Somewhere down the hall a door closed.

Then Sable rolled onto her side, propped her head on her hand, and looked at him. Her hair was a disaster. Her face was flushed and damp. She looked like she’d been dragged through something and come out the other side grinning.

“You learned that from me?” she asked.

He laughed. A real one, low and tired. “The process awakened my instincts.”

“Mm.” She reached down and ran a finger through the mess on her thigh, then lifted it to her mouth without looking away from him. “Then I’ve got more to teach you.”

She rolled off the bed and stood. Her legs were unsteady. She caught herself on the nightstand and laughed, quiet, privately. Then walked toward the bathroom located just beside the room, hips swaying, not bothering to cover anything.

The shower clicked on.

Damian stared at the ceiling. His heart was still pounding. His hands still smelled like her.

“You coming?” she called from the other room.

He was already moving.