Elira’s hands stayed on his chest, the pressure was firm enough to keep him seated on the edge of the bed, and for a second she only looked at him as if she was still deciding whether she was actually going to follow through.
Ray did not help her. He rested his hands on the mattress beside his thighs and waited with a smile still at the corner of his mouth.
"You already said it," he told her. "Now do it."
She exhaled, then climbed onto the bed and straddled his lap, the soft green dress bunching high on her thighs. The movement was less graceful than she probably wanted.
Her knees sank into the mattress on either side of him, and when she settled her weight the heat of her pressed against him through the thin fabric still between them.
A small, startled sound left her at the contact as her eyes widened, then narrowed as she forced herself not to pull back.
"Like that," Ray said quietly. "Do not apologize for it."
Elira’s hands moved to his shoulders. She leaned in, hesitated an inch from his mouth, then closed the distance herself.
The kiss was clumsy at first, her lips barely parted. Ray let her lead for a few seconds, then tilted his head and deepened it, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, unhurried stroke that made her fingers tighten on his shoulders.
A soft sound caught in her throat. When he pulled back just enough to look at her, her cheeks were flushed and her mouth was still open, and her breath was rough.
"Again," he said. "And this time stop acting like you are waiting for me to take it from you."
She kissed him harder the second time. Less polite. Her tongue met his, and when he sucked lightly on her lower lip she made a small, broken noise that she clearly had not planned. Ray’s hands finally moved, settling on her waist under the dress, thumbs stroking the bare skin above her hips. She shivered and pressed closer, grinding down once without meaning to. The friction pulled a sharper breath from both of them.
"There," Ray murmured against her mouth. "That is the difference. You moved because you wanted to, not because you were checking if it was allowed."
Elira’s forehead rested against his for a moment. Her eyes were half-lidded, lashes low, the nervous set of her mouth gone.
"It still feels strange."
"It will feel less strange the more you do it." His hands slid higher under the dress, palms warm against her ribs. "Lift."
She raised her arms. He pulled the dress over her head and dropped it aside. Underneath she wore a simple pale slip, thin enough that the shape of her breasts and the darker points of her nipples were clear. Ray did not rush. He looked at her openly, then brought one hand up and cupped her through the fabric, thumb brushing slow circles over one nipple until it tightened under his touch. Elira’s breath hitched. Her lips parted, and a faint, helpless sound left her when he pinched lightly and rolled the peak between his fingers.
"Look at me," he said.
She did. Her eyes were darker now, focused, a little glassy at the edges. He kept the slow attention on her breast while his other hand slipped between them and pressed two fingers against the damp heat between her thighs, rubbing through the thin cloth. Elira’s hips jerked. A shaky moan slipped out before she could stop it, and her nails dug into his shoulders.
"That," Ray said, voice low. "That sound. Do not hide it. If he hears you holding it back, he will think you are enduring him. If he hears that, he will want to hear it again."
She nodded, too far gone to argue, and rolled her hips against his hand. The slip was already wet where he touched her. Ray pushed the fabric aside and slid two fingers through her folds, slow and deliberate, spreading the slickness before he pressed one finger inside. Elira’s mouth fell open. Her eyes fluttered, then locked on his again as he worked the finger in and out, curling just enough to make her thighs tremble.
"Say what you want," he told her.
"More," she breathed. "I want more."
"Better. Now take it."
He withdrew his hand. Elira made a frustrated sound, then reached down herself and freed him from his trousers, fingers wrapping around the thick length with more confidence than she had shown an hour ago. She stroked him once, twice, watching his face the way he had watched hers. When his breath stayed even she tightened her grip and stroked again, slower, and a small satisfied look crossed her features when his jaw finally tightened.
"There," she said, echoing him. "You felt that."
"I did." Ray’s hands settled on her hips. "Now put it where you want it."
Elira rose on her knees, lined him up, and sank down. The stretch pulled a long, broken moan from her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut for a second, brows drawn, mouth open, then she forced them open again and looked at him while she took the rest of the length. When she was fully seated she stayed there, breathing hard, walls fluttering around him, the slip still bunched at her waist.
"Move," Ray said. "The way you would if you were the one deciding the night."
She started slow, rising and dropping, hands braced on his shoulders. Every time she took him deep a soft sound left her, and she stopped trying to swallow them. Her face was open now—flushed, lips wet, eyes half-lidded but fixed on his, a faint crease between her brows whenever he filled her completely. Ray met her on the downward strokes, not taking over, just giving her something solid to work against. The wet sound of her taking him filled the quiet room.
"Harder," she said, and this time it was not a request.
Ray’s hands tightened on her hips and he thrust up to meet her. Elira cried out, the sound sharp and unguarded, head tipping back for a moment before she dragged her gaze back to his face. She rode him with growing urgency, breasts shifting under the thin slip, nipples tight, the slip clinging where sweat and arousal had dampened it. When he slipped a hand between them and rubbed her clit in tight circles her rhythm broke. Her mouth fell open on a helpless moan, eyes going unfocused, thighs shaking.
"Do not stop looking at me," he said.
She tried. Her eyes kept trying to close. He slowed the circles just enough to make her chase them, and she forced her gaze back, face flushed deep, lips trembling.
"I am close," she gasped. "I am—do not stop."
"Then take it."
She ground down hard, chasing the pressure, and came with a sharp, broken cry, walls clamping around him, body shaking, expression completely open—brows drawn, mouth slack, eyes wet at the corners and locked on his even as the climax pulled her apart. Ray kept thrusting up through it, working her through every pulse until she slumped forward against his chest, still twitching, breath hot against his neck.
He did not finish. He stayed buried inside her, one hand stroking slow lines down her back while she caught her breath.
Elira lifted her head after a moment. Her hair had come loose. Her lips were swollen. She looked at him with something new in her face—still flushed, still shaking a little, but no longer waiting for permission.
"Again," she said. "And this time I want to hear you too."
Ray’s mouth curved.
"Then make me."