She didn't wait for him to set the pace.
Her hips lifted and dropped and his cock sank into her to the base and the sound she made was half gasp, half triumph. "There we go." Breathless, riding it, her hands flat on his chest. She rose up until he almost slipped out and came back down hard. His hands grabbed her hips on reflex.
"Hands off," she said. "My show."
He moved his hands to the couch cushions. She grinned down at him, blonde hair falling over one shoulder, and rolled her hips.
Slow at first. Deep, grinding circles that kept him buried while she found her angle. Her face shifted when she hit it, a small crease between her eyebrows, her lips parting. She adjusted, tilted, found it again. There. Her stomach muscles flexed under her skin with each roll, the athletic core of a woman who could hold a sixty-foot frame steady in a crosswind.
Riku looked up at her and his brain went quiet.
She was on top of him and the afternoon light was coming through the windows behind her and she was the most obscene thing he'd ever seen. Her breasts moving with her rhythm, heavy, swaying forward on the downstroke. Sweat already forming in the valley between them, catching the light. Her hair swinging with each roll of her hips, blonde strands sticking to her damp collarbones. Her face, flushed pink from her chest to her cheekbones, that performer's confidence still holding but cracking at the edges every time she seated herself fully and felt the stretch.
"You feel so." She paused on the downstroke, ground down, took him as deep as he could go. Her eyes fluttered shut. "God. You feel so good."
Her pace picked up. The grinding became bouncing, her hips lifting and dropping in a steady rhythm that made the couch creak underneath them. Wet sounds filled the apartment. She was soaked from the foreplay and every downstroke was audible, slick, a sound that made her face go pinker when she heard it.
He watched her face. Her expression shifted with every stroke. Her eyes fluttered when he was deepest and she bit her lip when she tilted her hips forward at a certain angle. Every time she dropped her full weight onto him her mouth opened on a silent "oh" and she'd grind there, feeling the stretch at the bottom.
She gave him a tell and he used it.
Her eyes fluttered at a certain depth. He tilted his hips to hit it again. She gasped. He did it harder. She grabbed his shoulders and her nails dug in and she gasped again, louder, and he filed the angle away and kept hitting it.
"You're, ah, you're doing that on purpose." She was riding faster now. Short choppy bounces. Wet slapping that echoed. "You keep, nn, hitting the same, ah."
She stopped trying to finish the sentence.
"You feel so, oh god, it's, ah, fuck." She could hear herself losing coherence and her face burned but her hips didn't slow. If anything they sped up. Her body chasing something her brain had stopped directing.
The wet sounds got louder. Obscene. Every downstroke a slick impact that filled the quiet apartment. The couch groaned under her rhythm. Her breathing had shifted from controlled panting to open-mouthed gasps that she wasn't bothering to hide anymore.
Sweat was running down her body. A bead formed between her breasts and tracked down her stomach to where their bodies joined. He could feel the heat of her everywhere, the place where his cock was buried in her almost scalding, her thighs furnace-hot against his. The apartment air was thick.
She was riding hard now. Fast. Both hands on his chest, fingers curled, using him for leverage. Her breasts bounced with every downstroke and she didn't care. Her hair was a wreck, half stuck to her neck and shoulders, half flying with the motion. Her face: flushed deep with her eyes half-closed, mouth open. She was just fucking him and she was loud about it.
"Ah, nn, right there, don't, ah, ah, fuck."
Her walls tightened around him. He felt it before she did, the first clench of an orgasm building, and he grabbed her hips and pulled her down on the next stroke, hard, bottoming out.
She came.
Her body locked. Her back arched and her thighs clamped around his waist. A broken "AH" that went high and desperate before she bit it off by shoving her fist against her mouth. Her hips jerked against him through the orgasm, short involuntary pulses, grinding him as deep as he could go. He felt her clench around him in rhythmic waves, tight, tighter, the sensation pulling at him.
He didn't stop.
She was still coming when he grabbed her hips and started thrusting up into her. Her eyes flew open. "Wait, I'm still, ah, oh god, I'm still."
Still coming. He knew. He could feel it, the clenching, her body spasming around him in waves. He thrust up into each wave and her orgasm stretched, extended, her face going slack. Her hand fell away from her mouth and the sounds that came out were raw. Unfiltered. "Nn, ah, NNAH, fuck, too, ah." Get faster updates on novelping dot com.
He came inside her.
The heat spread and she felt it. Her hips ground down, instinctive, trying to take him deeper. "Oh. Oh god. I can feel it." Her voice was small and wrecked. She looked down at him and her mouth opened but nothing came out. Her eyes were wide, glazed, unfocused. The warmth of him filling her and the last aftershocks of her own orgasm overlapping, her body clenching around him involuntarily, milking.
She didn't stop moving. Kept rocking, slow now, grinding him through his orgasm while he pulsed inside her. The oversensitivity hit him and he gripped her hips harder, fingers leaving white marks on her skin. She felt him twitch and tighten and she rolled her hips once more, deliberately, watching his jaw clench.
"There you go," she whispered. Performer's instinct resurfacing through the wreckage. "Good boy."
Vitality Drain pulsed.
The energy hit him in a wave. Not a trickle now. A flood. Warmth pouring through every point of skin contact, filling the depleted reservoir that had been aching for a week. His senses sharpened and the fatigue behind his eyes cleared like fog burning off. His muscles loosened, the aches vanishing. Full. He felt full for the first time in a week.
She noticed. "You're... your eyes just changed."
"Better?"
"Brighter. You look like a different person." She was still on his lap, his softening cock inside her, both of them slick with sweat. Her face was a mess. Mascara smudged, hair destroyed.
He was hard again in under a minute.
She felt it happen. Inside her, the softening cock thickening, filling her again. Her eyes widened. "Already? That's not. How is that."
"Quirk."
"That's cheating."
"You're complaining?"
She laughed, short and breathless. Then his hips moved, one slow thrust up into her from below, and the laugh turned into a gasp.
He lifted her off him.
The pullout was its own visual. His cock slid out of her glistening, coated, a string of wetness connecting them that stretched and broke. Her inner thighs were slick. She was dripping. His cum and hers mixed, visible, running down her skin. Her body clenched at the sudden emptiness and she made a sound, half protest, half relief.
He flipped her.
She went onto her hands and knees on the couch, not fighting it, and he was behind her before she'd finished settling. His hands on her hips, pulling her back toward him. She looked over her shoulder, blonde hair falling across her face, one green eye visible through the curtain.
"You could ask," she said.
"Can I?"
"I didn't say stop."
He pushed in from behind.
The angle was different and she felt it immediately. Deeper. The stretch hit somewhere new and her back arched, her face dropping forward. "Oh fuck. Fuck, that's. That angle is."
He didn't give her time to finish. He pulled back and thrust in hard and her words turned into sound. "AH." Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Harder. Faster. He set a pace that was nothing like her controlled cowgirl rhythm. His hips slapped against her ass with each thrust, the sound sharp and rhythmic, filling the apartment. She grabbed the arm of the couch with both hands and held on.
"Ah, ah, ah." One sound per thrust. Her face was in the cushion now, muffling her. He could feel the vibration of her moans through his cock, transmitted through her body. She tried to say something, a word, a sentence, and it came apart before it left her mouth. "You're so, I can't, it's too, ah."
She was pushing back to meet his thrusts, her ass pressing against his hips, trying to take him deeper. Her back was arched so hard her spine was a curve. Sweat ran down the dip of it, pooling at the small of her back.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head up.
Her face came into view. Flushed dark, mouth open, mascara running in thin lines down her cheeks. Not tears. The heat and sweat had done it. Wrecked. Absolutely wrecked.
Her eyes found the window. The reflection was dim, late afternoon, but enough. She saw herself. On her hands and knees, hair gripped in his fist, mouth open, getting fucked from behind by a fifteen-year-old kid she'd met two days ago.
Her face burned.
Her back arched deeper.
Both at the same time. She clenched tighter around him and pushed back harder against his thrusts.
"Don't, ah, don't look at me like that," she said. He wasn't sure if she was talking to him or the reflection.
He thrust harder. She screamed into the couch cushion, muffled, her whole body jolting. Her walls clenched around him in a vise grip and he felt her come again, sudden and hard, her body going rigid. "NNAH, ah, oh god, oh god, oh."
He came inside her while she was still coming. She felt the second load join the first and her face pressed into the cushion. "Oh. Oh that's. I can feel. Both." Broken fragments. She was full. She could feel the mess inside her, warm and slick, the friction different now. Wetter. Louder.
He pulled back and watched himself slide out. His cock was a mess. Glistening, coated with both of them. Her body clenched when he left, trying to hold him, and failed. Cum dripped from her onto the couch cushion. A lot of it. His and hers, mixed, visible.
She stayed on her hands and knees for a long moment, her head hanging, breathing ragged. Her thighs were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.
"Give me," she said. "Give me a second."
He ran his hand down her spine. Slow. His palm across sweat-damp skin, feeling the muscle underneath tremble. She shivered under the touch and made a sound that was either a whimper or a growl. He couldn't tell. He wasn't sure she could either.
The Vitality Drain was humming. He felt better than he had in a week. Better than he had in months, maybe. His body was charged, full, every sense crisp and dialed in. The apartment was bright and sharp and the woman in front of him was the most detailed thing in it. Every pore on her skin, every bead of sweat running down her back, the individual blonde strands plastered to her neck.
He was still hard.
She looked over her shoulder at his cock. Hunger and what looked a lot like she was doing math about how sore she was going to be tomorrow.
"How," she said.
"I told you. Quirk."
"That's absurd."
"You want to stop?"
She looked at him. At his cock. Back at him.
"No," she said. "I don't want to stop."