"I may get addicted to this," she said, her voice thick and low. "I’m serious. I may not be able to stop."

"You aren’t the only one" Sean said.

He began to move.

The rhythm built slowly. He watched himself slide in and out of her, the visual as overwhelming as the sensation, the way her body accepted him, the way she pushed back to meet each thrust. Her breathing grew ragged. One hand released the sheets and moved between her legs, her fingers finding her clit, and the combination of his thrusts and her touch made her shudder.

"There," she gasped. "Right there. Don’t stop. Don’t stop."

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t have if he’d wanted to. The pressure was building at the base of his spine, heat gathering low in his stomach, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

"I’m close," he said.

"Inside," she said immediately. "Inside. I want to feel it."

Her permission was what broke the last of his control. He thrust into her three more times, deep and hard, and then the release crashed through him, spilling into her in hot pulses. His vision went white at the edges. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise.

And Makima screamed.

Not a moan. Not a gasp. A real, unrestrained sound that tore out of her as her body convulsed around him. He felt the gush of wetness against his thighs as she squirted, her orgasm triggering his name again and again like a prayer she couldn’t stop saying. The sheets beneath them were soaked. Her body kept clenching and releasing around him as the climax rolled through her in waves that didn’t seem to end.

She collapsed forward onto the bed, still trembling, and he went with her, his body covering hers, still inside her. For a long moment neither of them moved.

Then she laughed. Soft and breathless and completely unguarded.

"That," she said. "Was new."

—

She was not done with him.

That became clear when she rolled over, pushed him onto his back, and looked down at his still-sensitive body with an expression that was anything but satisfied.

"Again," she said.

"Give me a minute."

"I gave you a minute." She lowered herself onto his chest, her breasts pressing against him, her mouth finding his neck. "You’re young. You’ll recover."

She kissed her way down his body for the second time that night, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. She knew what she wanted. Her mouth was hot and insistent, her hands everywhere at once, and by the time she reached his cock again he was already hardening under her attention.

"You see," she murmured against his skin. "I told you."

She positioned herself over him, straddling his hips, but instead of lowering herself onto him she cupped her breasts in both hands and leaned forward. His cock slid between them, the soft warm pressure of her cleavage surrounding him.

She looked up at him, her face framed by the curve of her own breasts, and smiled.

"I’ve wanted to do this since for a long time," she said.

She moved. Her breasts slid up and down his length, the friction different from anything else, softer but no less intense. She added her mouth when the head of him emerged from the valley of her cleavage, her tongue flicking across the tip before he disappeared again between the fullness of her.

"Look at me," she said.

He looked.

She held his gaze as she worked him, her rhythm steady and sure, her breasts glistening slightly from the sweat of their earlier exertions. The visual of her like this, this composed capable woman reduced to pure carnality, was almost more than he could process.

His release built faster than he expected. She must have felt it in the way his hips started to lift because she increased her pace, her breasts moving faster, her mouth opening wider to catch as much of him as she could.

"On me," she said. "I want to feel it."

He came with a groan that was torn from somewhere primal. White streaks painted her breasts, her collarbone, the underside of her chin. She didn’t flinch or pull away. She held position and let it happen, watching his face the entire time, her expression one of pure satisfaction.

When he was done she looked down at herself, at the evidence of him on her skin, and smiled.

"Beautiful," she said.

—

Sean gave her no time to recover , it was his payback revenge to her.

As soon as his breathing steadied he flipped their positions, pressing her onto her back, and kissed his way down her body with the same attention she had given him. He took his time. He learned her. The way she gasped when his mouth found the underside of her breast. The way her hips lifted when his tongue traced the line of her waist. The way her thighs parted for him without him having to ask.

By the time he reached the apex of her thighs she was already wet again, her sex swollen and pink and glistening. The scent of her was intoxicating. He breathed her in and she made a sound that was almost embarrassed, as if even now, after everything, she was still conscious of being seen so completely.

"Don’t be shy," he said against her skin. "Not with me."

He lowered his mouth to her.

The first touch of his tongue was feather-light, just a taste, just the suggestion of contact. Her hips bucked. Her hand flew to the back of his head. He licked her again, slower, longer, parting her folds with the flat of his tongue, and the sound she made was something between a sob and a laugh.

He found her clit and circled it with the tip of his tongue. Her grip on his hair tightened. Her thighs closed around his ears and then opened again immediately, as if she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.