I take her down to the daybed.
My mouth on the claiming marks, both of them. I begin at the throat—the older mark, the first night's work, still vivid—and when my mouth finds it she makes a sound that is not quite language and her hands go into my hair and stay. I hold there. I feel through the bond exactly what this does to her and I stay with my hands flat on her shoulders, her whole body concentrated to a single point.
Then the collarbone mark. Lower, broader, the sensation different there—bone-resonant, deeper—and I take it in my mouth while the throat mark's heat is still running, both at once, and she says my name quietly into the ceiling.
I move down.
I use my mouth on her between her thighs. I have done this since the first night after the heat broke, the night she went still because she hadn't expected it and I ran my tongue through her and she stopped being still immediately. I find this equally satisfying every time: the shock of it, the sounds it pulls from her, the particular dishevelment of a woman who planned to keep her head and cannot. I keep my hands flat on her thighs and hold them open and take my time.
She is already wet—has been since I walked into the workroom; I could smell it. I work through it slowly. The flat of my tongue first, learning the shape of her response as if I didn'tknow it, because she responds differently each time and I intend to know all of them. The angle she tilts toward. The specific pressure that makes her stop controlling the sounds. I find it and I stay there, steady, her thighs shaking against my hands, until she stops trying to manage any of it.
She comes with my hair in her fists and my name on her lips. Clearly. Just my name.
I move up the daybed and line the upper cock against her cunt. She is already wet—soaking, her slick running freely—and I press in and feel her take me inch by inch, her walls gripping tight around each one.
"Here," I say. Not gentle. "Keep your eyes on me."
She does.
I start to move. Long strokes, the curve of my cock finding the angle that makes her grip the daybed—every withdrawal dragging against the front of her walls—and I turn the vibration on low and watch her mouth fall open. I feel the lower cock sliding against her arse on each thrust, pressed between her cheeks, slick from her already. Not inside her yet. Just there. Letting her feel it.
She is making sounds already. Small and continuous. Her thighs tight against my hips.
"I can feel you," I say. "Every time you clench."
Her face goes hot. I drive in harder.
Her slick runs down my shaft and onto my balls with every stroke. I watch her face—jaw slack, eyes losing focus—and turn the vibration up a notch, and feel her walls begin to flutter around me instantly.
"That's it," I say. "Give me all of it."
She comes on my cock. Her cunt seizes tight around me in a long clenching wave, slick flooding out around my shaft, and she cries out and her hips roll up to meet mine through the whole of it. I drive through every wave. Don't stop. Don't slow.The orgasm stretches and she sobs against my throat and I keep going.
I stay inside her.
She is breathing hard. Both hands fisted in my shirt. The lower cock is still pressed between her arse cheeks, slick from her now, vibrating against her.
She whimpers at that. Just from the proximity of it.
"And this," I say, and press it to her arse.
She makes a sound—low, involuntary.
"Yes?"
"Yes." Barely a word. "Yes?—"
I work in slowly. Inch by inch. The tight heat of her around the lower cock while the upper is still seated—the wall between them impossibly thin, my own flesh against my own flesh through her—and both cocks vibrating now, different pitches, and she grips me hard and her breath comes in short sounds with each inch. By the time I am fully seated in both places she is shaking.
I hold still. Let her feel all of it.
"Both," I say. Not asking.
I move.
Not building. Not careful. I drive in and feel everything double—the tight grip of her cunt around the upper cock, the scorching heat of her arse around the lower, both vibrating against every wall she has—and her cry goes straight through me. Her slick is already running down my balls and her thighs. I grip her hips harder.
I set a hard rhythm.
