He set her down.
Her legs unlocked from his waist and he lowered her until her feet touched the concrete and her knees buckled. She caught herself with one hand against the pillar, her palm flat on the rough surface, and stood there breathing. Her hair was wrecked. The blood from the collarbone cut had dried in a dark line between her breasts and her skin was flushed from her chest to her temples and her thighs were shaking.
She didn't look at him.
He was still hard.
The system's recovery was faster than any human's should be. He'd come inside her two minutes ago and his cock was already stiff again, wet with her, and the cool warehouse air against it was a sharp contrast to the heat she'd just been.
She looked down. At his cock. Then up at his face.
Her jaw set. She dropped to her knees.
The concrete had to hurt. She didn't flinch. Her knees on the cold floor, her hands on his thighs, and she looked up at him with her chin raised and her eyes flat and waiting.
He didn't say anything.
She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. Her grip was firm, deliberate, and she held him steady and leaned forward and took the head into her mouth.
Her mouth was warm and wet and the pressure of her tongue against the underside was flat and firm and her lips closed around the ridge. She took him deeper in a slow stroke, her cheeks hollowing, and the suction was strong enough that his hand went to her hair by instinct.
She pulled off. Looked up. Her lips wet, a string of spit connecting them, her dark eyes focused.
"Don't pull my hair," she said.
He moved his hand to the pillar behind him. She went back down.
She worked him with her mouth. Aggressive, efficient, no wasted motion. Long deep strokes, her lips tight around his shaft, her tongue doing something on the upstroke that sent electricity from his cock to the base of his skull. She pushed deeper on each pass, her throat opening, and when the gag reflex hit she pushed through it, her eyes watering, her jaw stretching wider, and she didn't stop.
He could feel it in the grip of her hand on the base, in the force of each stroke. Looking up at him with wet eyes and her mouth full of him and a crease between her eyebrows like fury. He could see his cock disappearing between her lips on each downstroke, glistening when she pulled back, and her jaw stretching around him, and the visual of Elektra Natchios on her knees with tears on her face and his cock in her throat hit him harder than the suction did.
His hand on the pillar was gripping concrete hard enough that his fingertips ached. She was taking him deep, the head hitting the back of her throat, and the wet sucking sounds filled the quiet warehouse and her hand was stroking what her mouth couldn't reach, twisting on the upstroke, and his thighs were starting to shake. This chapter was taken from novelping . com without permission.
She read his body. She pulled off right before the edge, her hand still on him, stroking slow and wet, keeping him right there.
"Not yet," she said. Her voice was rough. Deeper than before. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood.
She turned around. Faced the pillar. Put both hands flat on the concrete, shoulder-width apart, and looked back at him over her shoulder.
Her back was lean muscle and old scars, her spine ridged with the hard cords running along either side of it. Her ass was tight and athletic and her tactical pants were bunched around her thighs where she'd shoved them down and she held the arch of her back and tilted her pelvis and waited.
He came up behind her. His hands on her waist. His fingers nearly spanning the narrow distance from hip to hip and her skin was hot and damp under his palms and she was breathing in slow measured inhales through her nose, controlling it, still controlling everything she could.
He lined himself up. She was still wet from the first round, wetter, and when the head pressed against her entrance she pushed back onto him before he could push in.
The angle was different from behind. Deeper. Her body was already opened and slick from the first time and he slid in to the hilt in one stroke and she made a short sharp sound through her nose and her fingers pressed into the concrete hard enough that her knuckles went white.
He pulled back. Pushed in. Slow at first, finding the depth, the fit from this angle. He could feel more of her this way. The tight grip of her walls along his entire length, the heat deeper inside her, her body pulling him back on each outstroke, gripping, reluctant to release.
She wouldn't accept slow.
She pushed back against him, hard, setting a pace that would have hurt if he hadn't been braced for it. Her hips snapping back to meet his on every thrust, her ass hitting his pelvis with a wet slap on each impact, the force rippling through her body. She braced her forearms against the pillar and dropped her head between them and her hair fell forward and she was breathing in harsh grunts through her teeth.
He matched her pace. His hands on her hips, guiding, and each thrust drove in deep and she took all of him and pushed back for more. He looked down. He could see his cock pulling out of her, slick, glistening, her lips stretched tight around him, and then driving back in and her body swallowing him and the wet sound of re-entry getting louder because she was soaked from the first round and wetter now. She was making sounds on every impact, involuntary, grunted out of her by the force. "Nh. Nh. Nh." Rhythmic, matching his pace, pulled from her chest because she couldn't keep them in.
His hand slid up her spine. Vertebra by vertebra, feeling the muscles flex under his palm, the sweat slicking his path. He reached the back of her neck. His hand closed around it. Held. The weight of his palm on the nape of her neck and nothing else.
She went still.
One heartbeat. Two. Her breathing stopped. Her body frozen around him, walls clenched, every muscle locked. His hand on the back of her neck and she was absolutely motionless and he could feel her pulse hammering against his palm.
Then she pushed back harder.
Faster than before. Desperate. Her hips slamming back against his, his hand still on her neck, and the sounds she was making were getting louder and rougher and less controlled. Her exhales were turning into moans and the moans were getting louder with every thrust and she couldn't stop them. This story is hosted at novelping.com.
He reached around with his free hand. His fingers found her clit.
She flinched. Oversensitive from the first orgasm, swollen, and his touch made her hips jerk and her body tighten around him and a sound came out of her that she cut off by biting her own lip.
He didn't pull away. He circled her clit with two fingers, light pressure, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and she was shaking. Her arms were trembling against the pillar and her thighs were quivering and her breathing was coming in short sharp gasps and she was fighting it, jaw clenched, her whole body braced against the orgasm like she could hold it back through sheer force.
"Let go," he said.
First words either of them had spoken since her knees hit the floor. His mouth beside her ear, his chest against her back, buried deep inside her with his fingers working her clit and his hand on the back of her neck.
She shook her head. A small desperate motion. She was clenching around him in rhythmic pulses and her clit was swollen under his fingers and her hips were pushing back against him even while she shook her head no.
He pressed harder. Circled faster. Drove into her and stayed deep, grinding against the spot the angle gave him, and she was gasping, short broken sounds, "ah- ah- nn-" and her arms were shaking so hard the pillar was the only thing keeping her up.
She came with her teeth in her own forearm.
She bit down to muffle it and the cry that came through was still loud enough to fill the warehouse, ragged and broken, and her body slammed back against his and her walls clenched in hard pulsing waves and her legs gave out. He held her up. His arm around her waist, his cock still inside her while she shook. The first clench was vicious and hard and then the wave rolled through her and then the aftershocks hit one after another, making her twitch and gasp each time, and he held her through all of it.
He could see the bite mark on her forearm. Red, tooth-shaped dents in the skin. She'd bitten herself hard enough to leave bruises to keep from screaming and she was still shaking and still clenching and his hand on her clit was still circling and she was whimpering. Actually whimpering. A sound he would not have believed Elektra Natchios capable of if he wasn't hearing it against the back of his hand where her mouth had fallen open.
He came inside her. His forehead between her shoulder blades, his mouth against her spine, and he pulsed deep while she was still clenching in aftershocks and her hand found his on her waist and her fingers locked through his and held on.
He stayed inside her. Softening. Her body still twitching around him. His forehead against her back, breathing against her skin, and her hand gripping his against her stomach.
They were against the pillar. Connected. The sweat cooling on their skin. The blood had dried on both of them and he couldn't tell if it had been minutes or an hour since the alley.
She let go of his hand. Pulled forward. He slipped out of her and felt the cold air replace the heat and she braced herself against the pillar with both hands and stood there, breathing, her hair hanging in her face.
He tucked himself in. His hands were shaking.
She pulled up her pants. Found her tank top crumpled on the floor. Put it on with her back to him.
She didn't say anything. He didn't either.