Chapter 121: Pounding Kira III R18+

Kira’s legs locked around his waist and his hands caught her under the thighs, lifting her off the step like she weighed nothing.

The banister dug into her spine. Kira gasped when the first thrust went through her, deeper now, gravity and the angle and his grip all conspiring to bury him at a depth that had her scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. She found his shirt collar and twisted it in both fists.

“Fuck…”

Damian didn’t answer. He set a new rhythm, faster than before, hips snapping up into her with a force that shook the rail behind her shoulder blades. The wood creaked. Every drive punched a little breath out of her lungs, and she was making a sound now that wasn’t a word and wasn’t a moan exactly — something higher, thinner, a pitch she’d never made in her life.

Her top had ridden up to her armpits. Her tits bounced with every thrust, and Damian’s eyes dropped to watch them, then came back to her face like he couldn’t decide which he wanted more.

“Harder,” she said.

His jaw tightened. He gave her harder. The slap of his hips against the backs of her thighs echoed off the plaster, wet and rhythmic, and her name was nowhere in this — she’d stopped being Kira, stopped being anyone with a face, just a body pinned to a wall taking what it had asked for.

Then he shifted one hand. His thumb found her clit and pressed, no preamble, just pressure exactly where she needed it.

Kira’s spine bowed off the wall. The scream came out of her before she could catch it, raw, punching up through the stairwell toward the ceiling. Some distant part of her registered the clock still ticking upstairs, indifferent, and the dust still drifting in its slant of light, and how absurd — how obscene — that the world was carrying on while she came apart against this man.

“You’re going to come,” Damian said. Not a question. His thumb kept working circles while he fucked up into her, and Kira could feel it coiling, that second crest of the evening, rising up from where his cock was splitting her open.

“I…”

“Say my name and come.”

She grabbed his face. Both hands, palms to his cheeks, forcing his eyes to hers.

“Damian.”

It broke over her like a wave she’d been holding her breath under. Her thighs clamped down around his hips, heels digging into the small of his back, and she shook through it — convulsing around him, every muscle she owned locking and releasing in a rhythm he could feel. Fluid spurted warm between them, ran down his wrist, dripped from his hand onto the step below in fat, dark spots.

He watched her the whole time. That was the thing she’d remember. He didn’t close his eyes, didn’t look away, just held her pinned to the wall and watched her face wreck itself while his thumb kept moving until she slapped his wrist.

“Okay,” she gasped. “Okay, okay…”

He let up on her clit but didn’t stop. His thrusts went ragged now, losing the metronome discipline he’d kept all evening. His breath came loud through his nose, then through his mouth, and Kira felt the exact moment his control snapped — the way he shoved her harder into the banister, the way his hands tightened on her thighs, the way his hips stuttered.

“Inside,” she said. “Come inside me.”

“Are you…”

“I said inside.”

His eyes locked on hers and something in his face gave way. He buried himself to the base and held there, hips grinding, and Kira felt him pulse — thick, hot, deep, filling her in a way she’d never felt anyone do. His mouth fell open. A low sound came out of him, almost a growl, and his forehead dropped to her collarbone.

The banister groaned. The clock upstairs ticked.

For a long moment neither of them moved. Kira’s legs were trembling where they crossed behind his back. Sweat had gathered in the hollow between her collarbones, and Damian’s breath was hot against it, wet and uneven.

Then he laughed. Quiet. Almost startled.

“We broke the banister,” he said.

Kira tilted her head and looked. One of the spindles hung crooked, snapped clean at the joint where it met the rail, dangling by a splinter.

“Eden’s house,” she said.

“Your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You told me harder.”

She laughed then, too.. a real one, breathless and cracked and the sound kept going longer than it should have, because laughing made his cock shift inside her and that made her gasp and that made him twitch and both of them were suddenly too sensitive, too wet, too everything.

“Okay,” she said. “Put me down before I fall.”

He lowered her slowly. Her feet hit the step and her knees immediately buckled, and he caught her elbow before she went sideways into the wall. She leaned on him and looked down at herself, top shoved up, skirt of nothing left, thighs slick and shining, fluid tracking down both legs.

“There’s a puddle,” she said flatly.

“There’s two.”

She looked. There was, in fact, a wet patch on the step below and a smaller one three steps down where his hand had dripped. Dust was already settling into it, turning the shine to mud.

“Am I ever going to be able to look at this staircase again?”

Damian was doing up his belt. He’d barely gotten undressed, a detail Kira registered for the first time, standing there bare from the chest down while he looked almost exactly as he had walking up the steps, except for the flush across his throat and the damp patch on his shirt where she’d pulled at it.

“No,” he said.

“That’s honest.”

“I try.”

She crossed her arms over her chest — an instinct, useless at this point and turned toward the hallway. She picked her singlet, wore it and yanked it down.

“I need to clean up,” she said. “And I need my pants. Where are my pants?”

Damian nodded down the staircase. They were in a heap on the landing below, next to her panties, next to the soaked gray cotton he’d pulled off her what felt like hours ago.

Kira stared at them.

“One of us is going down there,” she said.

“I have to get a broom anyway.”

“For the spindle.”

“For the spindle.”

She turned back to him. The evening light had shifted across the wall while they were. While that was happening and the stairwell was dimmer now, gold was fading to the tan of a hallway bulb.

“They might have already know,” she said. Not a question this time. Repeating it.

Damian met her eyes. He didn’t smile. He didn’t deny it.

“Maybe maybe not.”

The front door opened above them.