Urban God of Rebate: Infinite Returns Of Women And Powers

He continued those feather-light circles. Around and around. Never quite giving her enough pressure to tip over the edge, but enough to keep her right at the precipice. Her breathing grew ragged. Her hips rocked against his hand, trying to increase the friction.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

He slid one finger inside her. Then two. She was tight—even after everything they’d done, she was still so impossibly tight—and the feeling of her inner walls gripping his fingers made him groan against her skin.

She moaned.

”Sean, please. I need you inside me..” Her voice was wrecked.

He withdrew his fingers. She made a sound of protest that died in her throat when she felt the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. He was fully hard again—impossibly, wonderfully hard, the kind of arousal that defied logic and biology and the three orgasms he’d already had tonight.

He positioned himself. Teased her entrance with just the tip.

He pushed his dick inside her pussy.

The angle was different like this. Deeper. Her back arched, and she cried out, and her hand flew back to grip his thigh as he sank into her inch by inch. The position allowed him to bottom out completely, his full length buried inside her, and for a moment neither of them moved.

They just existed there. Joined. Breathing.

”Sean.” Her voice was barely a whisper. ”This is—I can feel you everywhere.”

”Good.”

He withdrew halfway. Thrust back in. Slow. Deep. Her inner walls fluttered around him, still sensitive from her previous orgasms, and the sensation was so intense he had to close his eyes and focus on not ending this too soon.

His hand found her breast. Cupped it. His thumb brushed over her nipple, and she gasped, and her inner muscles clenched around him in response. He did it again. Same reaction. Again. The tightness was almost unbearable.

”You’re so responsive,” he murmured against her ear. ”Every touch. Every breath. Your body tells me everything.”

”What’s it saying now?”

He thrust deeper. Held himself there. Let her feel the stretch, the fullness, the way he filled every inch of her.

”It’s saying you want to come.”

”I do. God, I do.”

”Then come.”

He began to move. Not the slow, teasing rhythm from before, but something harder. More urgent. His hips snapped against her from behind, and the sound of their bodies meeting—wet and rhythmic and obscene—filled the room. The bed creaked beneath them. The headboard tapped against the wall.

Her hand found his. Intertwined their fingers. Held on like he was the only solid thing in a world that had dissolved into pleasure.

”Look at us,” he said.

Her eyes, which had been squeezed shut, fluttered open. The wall facing the bed was mirrored—some designer’s choice that Sean had barely noticed when they first arrived. But now it reflected everything. The tangle of their bodies. The city lights beyond the window. Her face, flushed and open and utterly undone.

She watched herself. Watched him behind her. Watched the way his cock disappeared inside her with each thrust.

”That’s us,” he said. ”That’s what we look like together.”

”It’s—” She broke off on a moan. ”It’s beautiful.”

”You’re beautiful.”

She turned her head. Kissed him. Or tried to—the angle was awkward, and it was more of a desperate press of lips than a real kiss, but it was perfect. She was perfect.

”Faster,” she begged. ”Please, faster.”

He obliged.

His rhythm increased. Harder. Deeper. The hand that wasn’t holding hers gripped her hip, fingers pressing into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. He didn’t care. She didn’t seem to either. If anything, the slight edge of pain made her moan louder.

The pressure was building. He could feel it coiling at the base of his spine, could feel her inner walls starting to flutter in the telltale rhythm of approaching climax.

”Olivia.”

”Don’t stop.”

”I’m not—” A groan cut him off. ”I’m not going to stop. I’m going to come inside you.”

”Yes.”

”Is that what you want?”

”Yes.” Her voice cracked. ”Fill me up. Please. I want to feel you.”

The words—her words, desperate and hungry and utterly shameless—pushed him to the brink.

He reached around. Found her clit with his fingers. Pressed down.

She screamed.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing through her body and dragging him along in its wake. He felt her inner walls clamp down on him, pulsing and squeezing and milking his length. And then he was coming too, his release flooding into her in hot, endless pulses, filling her exactly the way she’d asked him to.

He buried his face in her hair. Groaned her name. Held her so tight that their bodies might have fused together.

The world went white.

When it came back into focus, they were still tangled together. Still joined. Still breathing in ragged, uneven gasps.

Neither of them spoke.

What was there to say?

His arm was still under her head, and he could feel her pulse gradually slowing against his bicep. Her hand was still laced with his. Her legs were still pressed against his.

He was still inside her. Softening now, but still there. Still connected.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. The city outside continued its endless, indifferent hum.

Olivia stirred first. Shifted slightly. A small sound escaped her throat when she felt him slip free, followed by the slow trickle of his release trailing down her thigh.

”Messy,” she murmured.

”Worth it.”

She laughed—a quiet, breathless sound that vibrated through her body and into his. ”Definitely worth it.”

He reached over to the nightstand, found a box of tissues, and cleaned her gently. She hummed in appreciation, her body lax and pliant under his touch. When he was done, he tossed the tissues toward the trash can and pulled the blanket up over both of them.

She turned in his arms. Faced him. Her green eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips swollen, her cheeks still flushed pink. The necklace lay against her collarbone, catching the faint light from the window.