Chapter 145: Happy Sex III
She cried out and clenched around him.
"You like that?"
"I like everything you do to me. Everything. Don’t stop— don’t stop—"
He didn’t. He drove his dick deeper into her with sharp precise strokes, angling his hips to hit the spot that made her gasp, and Makima’s nails raked down his back through his shirt—the shirt he was still wearing, both of them still half-dressed, the whole thing urgent and desperate and utterly focused on sensation. The wet sounds of their joining filled the room. Her moans rose in pitch and frequency until they were almost continuous, a string of yes-yes-yes-yes that broke apart when he reached between them and pressed his thumb to her clit.
"I’m coming again— Sean, I’m—"
Her second orgasm hit harder than the first. She clamped down around his cock with a force that made him gasp, and her body went rigid for a suspended moment before she collapsed back against the table, limp and trembling, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her chest and throat.
Sean slowed but didn’t stop. He was close again himself—the sight of her undone beneath him, the sound of her, the feel of her clenching around his dick—it was pushing him toward the edge fast.
"Where do you want it?" he asked, voice strained.
Makima managed to open her eyes. "Inside me. I want to feel you come inside me."
That was all it took.
He buried himself deep and let go, his release tearing through him in hard pulses that seemed to go on longer than they should have, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, her arms coming up to wrap around his back. She held him through it, murmuring something he couldn’t quite hear, her lips brushing his temple.
For a long moment they stayed like that—Sean still inside her, Makima sprawled across her own dining table with ruined hair and wine-soaked tablecloth beneath her, both of them breathing hard. The candles had burned low. One of them sputtered and went out, sending a thin line of smoke toward the ceiling.
Then Makima laughed—a soft surprised sound.
"We’re still wearing half our clothes."
Sean lifted his head. Looked down at her. The ruined blouse. The disheveled hair. The flush that spread from her cheeks down to her chest. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
"The bedroom," he said. "Now."
She raised an eyebrow. "Now? Give me a minute, I can barely feel my legs."
He pulled out of her slowly, and she made a small sound at the loss. Then he took her hand and helped her off the table, steadying her when her knees wobbled. The wine had soaked into the hem of her blouse. She looked down at the mess and shook her head.
"That tablecloth was expensive." Said Makima
"I’ll buy you a new one." Said Sean
"You’d better." But she was smiling, and when Sean kissed her she melted against him, soft and pliant, her earlier hunger temporarily banked but far from extinguished.
He led her toward the bedroom, one hand on the small of her back. Her trousers and underwear were still somewhere on the dining room floor. His shirt was still on, clinging to his shoulders with sweat. They moved through the dark apartment like two people who had forgotten everything except the heat between them—Makima’s fingers interlaced with his, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, her breathing still uneven.
The bedroom door was open.Makima and Sean entered .
Sean’s shirt fell first—Makima’s fingers working the buttons with a shaking urgency that made the fabric whisper. She shoved it off his shoulders, and the cool air hit his sweat-slicked skin, tightening everything. Her blouse followed, sliding down her arms and pooling on the floor like a dark flag of surrender. The bra unhooked with a practiced twist of his fingers, and when her breasts spilled free, heavy and warm, Sean cupped them both and let his thumbs trace slow circles around her nipples until she gasped into his mouth.
"I am still horny , I need more " she murmured, tugging at his belt. He’d only pulled his trousers back up partially after the dining table. Now she unzipped him with a single fluid motion and pushed the fabric down his thighs. His cock sprang free, already rigid and angling toward her belly. Makima wrapped her hand around it and squeezed just enough to make him hiss.
"You have no idea what you do to me," she said, stroking the length of him, her thumb spreading the bead of moisture at the tip. "I’ve been thinking about this since you walked into my building. About you. About us. About everything I wanted you to do to me."
Makima’s eyes lifted. As arousal overcame her, she felt herself growing wet. Looking at him, she said, "I want you to fuck my ass."
Sean kissed her. Long and deep, tasting the residual salt of her earlier climax on her tongue, feeling her body press forward until her nipples scraped against his chest. When he pulled back, she was panting.
"Get on the bed. On your hands and knees."
She obeyed without a word, crawling onto the white sheets with that natural sway in her hips that had nothing to do with performance. Moonlight striped her back, her ass, the dark valley between her thighs. Sean opened the nightstand drawer—lube in the first one he tried, a half-full bottle of something expensive—and knelt behind her.
The bottle clicked open. He slicked two fingers generously and pressed them against her. She was still wet from before, her pussy swollen and glistening, but he bypassed it entirely and circled the tight pucker of her ass. Makima’s breath hitched.
"Relax," he said, his free hand stroking the dip of her spine. "I’ve got you."
"I know you do." Said Makima
The first finger slipped in. Slowly. So slowly the world outside the room ceased to exist. Makima’s back arched and her fingers curled into the sheets, but she didn’t tense—her body opened for him with a surrender that was almost religious. Sean worked the finger in and out, letting her adjust, watching her shoulders drop by increments.
"More," she whispered.