Urban God of Rebate: Infinite Returns Of Women And Powers

He added a second finger, scissoring gently, spreading the lube inside her. The sounds were obscene—wet and rhythmic, punctuated by her sharp inhales. She pushed back against his hand, fucking herself on his fingers, and the sight of her doing it—composed, capable Makima reduced to this—made Sean’s cock throb.

”I’m ready,” she said. ”I want you inside me. Now.”

He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself. The head of his cock pressed against her, and she reached back with one hand to guide him, her fingers wrapping around his shaft and pulling him forward.

”Slow at first,” she breathed. ”I want to feel every inch.”

He pushed.

The tightness was staggering—hotter and more intense than her pussy, gripping him in a ring of muscle that clenched and released, clenched and released, as her body decided whether to accept him. Makima let out a long, trembling moan that seemed to rise from the base of her spine. Her head dropped between her shoulders.

”You okay?”

”Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Sean sank deeper. Inch by torturous inch, her ass swallowing his cock while she panted and squirmed beneath him. When he was fully seated—his hips flush against the curve of her backside—he held still and let her feel it. Let her feel full.

”Oh god,” she breathed. ”Oh god, Sean, you’re so deep.”

He pulled back and thrust forward again, slow and steady, and this time she cried out. The sound cracked through the quiet bedroom, and behind it came a moan that was half his name.

The bed creaked beneath them. Sean gripped her hips and angled himself deeper, and she made a noise he’d never heard a woman make before—a guttural, almost wounded sound that vibrated through her entire body.

”Right there. Right fucking there.”

His thumb found her clit. Swollen and slick, easy to circle with just enough pressure to make her jerk. Makima’s rhythm stuttered.

”I’m going to come,” she gasped. ”From my ass—I’m going to come from your cock in my ass—”

The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking. She clenched around him so hard it almost hurt, her whole body convulsing, and a string of syllables tumbled from her mouth—words that might have been his name, might have been profanity, might have been prayer. Sean fucked her through it, drawing out the spasms until she collapsed forward onto her elbows, cheek pressed to the mattress, ass still raised.

”Don’t stop,” she managed. ”Come inside me. Fill my ass with your cum.”

He didn’t last long after that. Four more strokes, five, and then his release slammed into him—harder than before, more intense, like every nerve in his body had been gathered into a single point and lit on fire. He buried himself deep and pulsed inside her, and Makima whimpered with every spasm, her fingers gripping the sheets so tightly the fabric pulled loose from the corner of the mattress.

They stayed locked together for a long, suspended moment. Then Sean withdrew carefully and collapsed beside her on the bed. The sheets were a mess—lube, sweat, the musk of sex saturating everything. Makima rolled onto her side and looked at him with eyes that seemed to have forgotten how to focus.

”I can’t feel my legs,” she said.

”That was the point.”

She laughed, and the sound was still hoarse from screaming. ”You’re insufferable.” Then she propped herself up on one elbow and studied his face. ”I’m disgusting. I need a bath.”

”We need a bath.”

He helped her stand. Her legs wobbled and she clutched his arm, leaning into him with a trust that felt more intimate than anything they’d just done. Naked, they walked through the dark apartment toward the bathroom, and Sean flicked on the light—warm yellow, softer than the dining room candles. The tub was large, deep enough for two, with a sloped back that invited extended soaking.

Makima turned on the water and adjusted the temperature while Sean found a bottle of bath soap on the ledge. Something floral. Lavender, maybe. She stepped into the tub first, sinking down with a sigh that seemed to release every remaining knot in her shoulders, and then held out her hand. He took it and climbed in behind her, settling her between his legs so her back rested against his chest.

The water climbed slowly. Steam rose. Makima closed her eyes.

And then Sean’s soap-slick hands slid around her ribs and cupped her breasts.

”What are you doing?” she murmured, not opening her eyes.

”Getting you clean.”

Lather foamed between his fingers. He worked slow circles around her nipples, the slippery friction making them peak and harden, and Makima’s head fell back against his shoulder. A soft sound escaped her throat—not a moan, exactly, but something close. He pinched each nipple gently between thumb and forefinger, rolling them through the soap, and her hips shifted beneath the water.

”That’s not cleaning,” she said.

”It’s thorough.”

Her hand found his thigh underwater and traveled upward until her fingers wrapped around his cock—half-hard again, stirring against her palm. She squeezed, and the soap she’d gathered from the water made her grip glide. Up. Down. A slick, easy stroke that made his breath catch.

”Two can play that game,” she whispered.

She twisted her wrist on the upstroke, thumbing the ridge beneath the head, and Sean’s hips bucked. The water sloshed against the sides of the tub. Makima turned in his arms, water cascading over the edge, and straddled his lap with her knees braced against the porcelain. Her hair was wet now, black strands clinging to her throat and shoulders, and her face was flushed from the steam.

”I want to ride you,” she said. ”Right here.”

”You’re going to flood the bathroom.”

”Then we’ll clean that up too.”

She lowered herself onto him slowly, her pussy still sensitive and swollen, and the combination of water and residual lube made the entry seamless. They both groaned. Makima’s hips began to move in a slow, deep grind that made tiny waves lap against their chests. Sean gripped the sides of the tub and watched her—watched her breasts sway, watched her lips part, watched the way her blue eyes went dark and unfocused when she found the right angle.

”You feel so good,” she breathed. ”So fucking good inside me.”

She increased her pace. The water sloshed harder, splashing onto the tile floor, and the wet sounds of their joining echoed off the bathroom walls. Sean’s hands found her hips and pulled her down harder, faster, until she was bouncing in his lap with an abandon that would have been impossible on dry land—the water made everything weightless, frictionless, a slick dream of heat and motion.

”I’m close,” she panted. ”I’m close again—how are you doing this to me—”

”Let go. Come on my cock.”

She shattered with a cry that bounced off the tiles, her nails digging into his shoulders, her inner muscles clamping around him in rhythmic pulses. The sight of her—head thrown back, throat bared, water droplets clinging to her collarbone—pushed Sean over the edge a heartbeat later. He came with a guttural sound, emptying into her while she milked him through it, her body still trembling with aftershocks.

They sagged together, chest to chest, breathing ragged. The bathwater had gone lukewarm. A puddle the size of a dinner plate spread across the bathroom floor.

She kissed him softly and climbed off his lap, then reached for the drain plug. Water spiraled down with a greedy gurgle. She stood on unsteady legs and grabbed two towels from the rack, tossing one to Sean. They dried off in silence, stealing glances, smiling at each other with the conspiratorial warmth of people who had just discovered something neither of them had words for.

Back in the bedroom, the sheets were still a disaster. Makima stripped them off the bed without ceremony and dug fresh ones from the closet while Sean fished a spare blanket from the shelf. They remade the bed together—her tucking corners, him smoothing the duvet—and when they finally crawled under the covers, the mattress felt like sanctuary.

She curled against his side, her head on his chest, her arm draped across his stomach.

Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, following the lines of muscle like she was memorizing them. ”I love you,” she whispered,

He turned his head and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there. ”I love you too. More than I know how to say.”

She tilted her face up, and their mouths met—slow, tender, none of the earlier urgency. Just the gentle press of lips and the quiet promise behind it. When they broke apart, her eyes were glistening.

”Say it again,” she breathed.

”I love you, Makima.” He brushed a strand of damp hair from her cheek. ”I love everything about you. ’’

She kissed him again, deeper this time.

She laughed softly and tucked herself against his side, her head finding its perfect place in the hollow of his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her close, and her leg slid between his. Their bodies fit together like they’d been shaped for this—for warmth and safety and the quiet intimacy of skin against skin.

”I never want to sleep without you again,” she murmured, her voice growing drowsy.

”Me too” said Sean while he cuddles Makima tightly/

She pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. ”I love you, Sean.”

”I love you too Makima” Said Sean