Chapter 219: Lynx, Eleanor and her Squad III
Chapter 219: Lynx, Eleanor and her Squad III
Iris didn’t move for a beat. Then she stepped out of her heels, one foot and then the other, and crossed the carpet with the unhurried grace of a woman who had been waiting her turn and intended to make it count.
Midnight hair swung down her back, past her waist. Silver eyes stayed fixed on him. She stopped at the edge of the mattress, and Layla, still sprawled, still leaking, still catching her breath, rolled onto her side and made room without being asked.
"You made a mess," Iris said, looking at the sheets.
"She earned it."
"I wasn’t complaining."
She peeled the dress off her shoulders and let it fall. No bra underneath, just the weight of her, big and full, the undersides of her breasts shadowed in the firelight.
Her waist dipped in, then flared into hips that filled the frame of her like she’d been drawn to be looked at.
She hooked her thumbs into her panties and dragged them down her thighs, stepped out, and left them on the floor with everything else.
Lynx reached for her and she came onto the bed on her knees, and he got his hands on her, both of them, palms sliding up the outside of her thighs, over her hips, up her ribs, until he was cupping her breasts and lifting their weight.
She was heavier than Layla. Softer. He pressed them together, watched the flesh give and swell between his fingers, and Iris let out a slow breath through her nose and closed her eyes.
"You’ve been watching," he said.
"Everyone’s been watching."
"That’s not what I asked."
Her eyes opened. Silver, and unbothered. "I’ve been wet since you took Layla’s dress off. Do you want me to say it nicer than that?"
He pulled her down and kissed her. She tasted like wine and the mint she’d been chewing in the lounge, and her tongue met his without hesitation, and when he sucked her lower lip between his teeth she made a low sound and pressed her whole body against him.
Her breasts flattened against his chest. Her hips rolled against his thigh, seeking, and he felt the slick heat of her smear across his skin.
He broke the kiss and looked past her shoulder. "Nadia. Rhea. Get on the bed."
Rhea moved first, icy blue bob swinging as she climbed up and settled against the headboard, knees drawn up, watching with those frost blue eyes gone dark at the pupil.
Nadia followed with far more reluctance than her body wanted, muttering something under her breath as she arranged herself on Layla’s other side, full lips pressed thin, hazel eyes bright and furious and hungry all at once.
"Nobody touches themselves yet," Lynx said.
Nadia’s mouth opened. "Excuse me..."
"You heard me."
Iris laughed, low, and turned back to him. "You’re cruel."
"You like it."
"I like that you know what you want." She pushed him flat on his back with one hand on his chest, and Lynx let her, let her straddle his hips, let her take his cock in her fist and stroke it once, twice, slow, watching the glow pulse brighter under her fingers.
"There it is," she murmured. "You get brighter when someone touches you."
"So do you."
She guided him to her entrance and sank down, not fast, not slow, a long controlled descent that made her breath stutter halfway and her thighs tremble against his sides.
She was tight in a way Layla hadn’t been, although they all had very tight virgin pussies, deep in a way that made him feel the whole length of himself disappear into her.
And when she finally seated herself flush against him she sat still for a moment with her hands braced on his chest and her hair curtaining both their faces.
"Fuck," she whispered. "You fill me up."
"Move, then."
"Don’t rush me."
She moved. A slow grind first, hips circling, learning the shape of him, and Lynx watched her tits sway with every roll of her weight, big, full, the nipples dark and tight.
He reached up and took one in his mouth and Iris hissed through her teeth and her hips snapped down harder. He sucked, tongue working the peak, and she started to ride him for real.
The bed creaked. Her hair swung. Every time she came down, her breast pulled free of his mouth and then he caught it again, and she made a sound each time like it cost her something.
He moved to the other one. Sucked it. Bit it. She gasped and ground down and her nails dug into his chest.
"Harder," she said.
He grabbed her hips with both hands and took over, thrusting up into her while she rode, meeting her halfway, driving up so hard her whole body bounced and her breasts jumped and she had to catch herself on his shoulders to stay upright.
Her silver eyes had gone glassy. Her mouth was open. She stopped talking and just took it, and the wet sound of him sliding in and out of her filled the room under the slap of their bodies.
"Look at you," he said. "You said you weren’t going to rush."
"Shut up—"
"You’re fucking yourself on me like you’re late for something."
She came. It rolled through her in a wave, her cunt tightening around him in pulses, her thighs clamping, her whole body curling forward over his chest, hair falling around them both.
He fucked her through it, slow and deep, and she shuddered and moaned into his neck and her hips kept moving even after the last spasm, greedy, chasing it.
He rolled her off him and onto her stomach before she could recover. She caught herself on her forearms, hair spilled across the pillow, and he dragged her hips up and pushed into her from behind.
The angle made her cry out, a real cry, high and startled, and he set a hard pace immediately, no warm-up, hands gripping her waist.
"Lynx... ahhh~fuck..."
"That’s it."
He reached under her and found her clit and rubbed it with two fingers while he fucked her, and Iris’s arms gave out.
She went down onto her face, cheek pressed to the sheets, ass still up, and just took it, took every stroke, moaning into the mattress, her fingers twisting in the fabric.
He leaned over her back and kissed her shoulder blade and bit it, and she came again, harder, her cunt gripping him so tight he had to slow down or finish early.
He pulled out. Flipped her onto her back. And then he was inside her again, missionary this time, but not soft, one of her legs hooked high over his elbow, her knee nearly at her shoulder, and he fucked her at that angle with his full weight, grinding deep on every stroke.
Her breasts rolled with each thrust. He dropped his mouth to them and sucked one nipple, then the other, alternating, and Iris’s hands came up and held his head there.
"Don’t stop," she said. "Don’t you dare stop."
He didn’t. He fucked her through a fourth orgasm and a fifth, and on the fifth he buried himself deep and came, hot and thick and pulsing, filling her while she shook beneath him.
When he pulled out, cum followed, sliding down between her thighs and onto the ruined sheets.
Iris lay there with her chest heaving, silver eyes closed, a small satisfied smile on her face that she didn’t bother to hide.
Lynx turned his head.
Rhea was gripping the headboard. Nadia had both hands fisted in the sheets beside her, thighs pressed together, breathing hard through her nose.
Neither of them had touched themselves.
Neither of them had looked away.
"Rhea," he said. "Come here."
Rhea Dawnwhisper came off the headboard like she’d been waiting for the word and was tired of pretending otherwise.
She didn’t undress slow. She didn’t undress at all, at first, she crossed the ruined sheets on her knees in the black slip she’d worn under her jacket all day, and it clung to the hard cut of her waist, the flat plane of her stomach, the small tight weight of her breasts barely held by the fabric.
Ice blue bob swinging against her jaw. Frost blue eyes fixed on his face, not his cock, not the mess on the sheets, just him.
She stopped a foot away.
"You’re going to be inside me in about ten seconds," she said, trying to sound different. "So I’m going to say this now. I don’t do the thing the others do. I’m not going to scream your name and I’m not going to beg."
Lynx propped himself up on one elbow. Cum was still drying on his stomach. His cock lay heavy against his thigh, glowing soft, not yet recovered, not yet asked to be.
"You don’t have to do anything," he said.
"Good." She hooked her thumbs in the hem of the slip and pulled it over her head in one motion. Underneath... nothing.
Pale skin, cold light off the fireplace, a body built like a blade, narrow hips, long thighs, small high breasts with nipples already peaked hard from the air. The only soft thing about her was the way her hair fell.
She came onto his lap and straddled him, and her thighs were cold against his hips, and she looked down at him with her hands braced flat on his chest and said, "I’m going to ride you until I get bored. If you finish before I do, I’m going to be extremely annoyed."
"Noted."
"I’m serious."
"So am I." He reached up and took her jaw in one hand, thumb along her cheekbone, and her breath hitched, small, involuntary. "You talk a lot for someone who’s already wet on my leg, and a virgin."
Her jaw tightened under his palm. She didn’t deny it. She shifted her weight and the slick of her dragged across his thigh, and her eyes narrowed like he’d cheated at something.
"Shut up," she said, and reached down between them, and wrapped her hand around him.
He was still half soft. She stroked him anyway, slow, deliberate, watching his face the whole time, working the length of him with her fingers until the glow under her palm pulsed brighter and he thickened in her grip.
She felt it happen. Her mouth curved, just slightly, the first real expression she’d given him all night.
"There it is," she murmured. "You’re not as unbothered as you pretend."
"Neither are you."
She guided him to her tight entrance and slowly sank down without another word, one long, controlled drop of her hips, and her cunt took him inch by inch, tight and cold and wet, and her jaw went slack halfway through and her nails bit into his chest and she stopped breathing until she was seated flush against him, full to the root.
Then she breathed out. Slow. Through her nose
.
"Fuck," she said, very quietly, like it embarrassed her. Like the others, she didn’t feel any ounce of pain even when her hymen tore. She was feeling only pleasure.
Lynx lay still. Let her feel it. Let her sit on him with her thighs trembling and her hands flat on his chest and her hair hanging in her face, and didn’t move, didn’t thrust, didn’t do anything except watch her fight herself.
She started to move first. Of course she did.
A grind, at first, hips rolling forward and back, learning the length of him, and her breasts moved with every roll, small and high and tipped with hard dark nipples, and Lynx watched them and didn’t touch. She noticed. Her rhythm stuttered.
"You can touch them," she said.
"You said you didn’t want anything."
"I said I wasn’t going to beg. That’s different."
He reached up and cupped one. Filled his palm with it. Her nipple pressed into the crease of his fingers and she sucked in a breath and rode down onto him harder, and the slap of their bodies cracked off the walls for the first time.
He squeezed. She gasped. He rolled the nipple between two fingers and she rode him faster, chasing it, and the wet sound of her getting fucked started to fill the room under the crackle of the fire.
"That’s it," he said. "Use me."
"I told you to shut..."
He pinched her nipple hard and she cut off mid word with a sound that wasn’t a scream and wasn’t a moan, something caught between, and her hips snapped down and she came, fast and sudden.
Her whole body locking up over him, cunt clamping down around his cock in tight pulses that made his eyes roll back.
She rode it out with her teeth bared and her hands fisted in his chest, and when it finished she was still moving, still grinding, refusing to stop.
"That was one," she said, breathless. "Don’t get excited."
"Wasn’t counting."
"You should be."
He rolled them over.
She landed on her back with an oof and her hair fanned out across the pillow and her thighs still open around his hips, and he was inside her before she could get her bearings, deep, slow, grinding into her at an angle that made her frost blue eyes go wide and unfocused.
He pinned one of her wrists to the mattress. Not hard. Just there.
"I said I’d ride you," she managed.
"You did. You came. Now it’s my turn."
He fucked her. Slow and deep and relentless, no showmanship, just weight and rhythm, and Rhea, who didn’t scream, who didn’t beg, turned her face into the pillow and bit down on the fabric and made small then loud, tight sounds in the back of her throat that were worse than screaming. Her free hand clawed at his back.
Her heels dug into his ass. He kept the same pace, same angle, same pressure, and her second orgasm built so slowly she didn’t see it coming until it was already on her, and when it hit she bit the pillow so hard he thought she might tear it.
He pulled out. Flipped her onto her stomach. Dragged her hips up.
She caught herself on her elbows and looked back over her shoulder at him, hair in her eyes, mouth red from biting the pillow, and said, "Don’t."
"Don’t what?"
"Don’t be gentle about it."