I pivot us to the wall on the other side. My legs wobble. Afraid they’ll give out, I grope for balance, but they keep buckling. Awkwardly, struggling to stay inside her and taking care not to stumble and fall, I maneuver us down. We shift and writhe on the stairs to find a good position. When I’m satisfied, I tuck our pajamas and my sweatshirt beneath her back to blunt the sharp ridges of the steps. And then I cushion the back of her head with my hand.
At last, I ram into her.
“Yes, like that,” she says. “Hard.”
“As you wish, Madam.”
I hold nothing back, pumping her with strokes that are hard, fast, and relentless. She moans, rolling her head on my palm. Her vagina contracts and pulls at me. Its pressure on my cock renders me ferocious. I bang her with thrusts that are borderline savage. She clutches at me for dear life.
Can she handle this?In another flash of lucidity, I search her face.
“Harder,” she grates. “And don’t stop.”
Fuck!
I pound harder, and harder, and harder still—completely unleashed. The walls of her channel grip and suck me. When her eyes roll in her head, and she bites her own forearm to stifle a scream, I erupt. My cock shoots out torrents of sperm just as eagerly as it did in her mouth. It’s as if there is no rubber between us, and I’m trying to make sure that all the cum left in me and all that I’ll ever produce empties into Margot.
Finally, we come to a stop, with me buried deep inside her. My body is still covering hers, pressing her into the stairs. As I recover, I discern the smell of sex permeating the area around us, the silence of the sleepy house, our heavy breaths, the postcoital throbbing of our sexes… Her back must be hurting like a bitch, lashed by the ridges of the stairs.
Quickly, I pull out and collapse on the stairs next to her.
She stirs and lifts off just enough to free our clothing. I push myself up, sort our items, and pull mine on.
She stirs again, props herself on her elbows, her eyes glazed over.
I offer my hand, but she pretends she didn’t see it. Slowly and deliberately, like a drunk, she turns over and heaves herself up to her hands and knees. Again, I move to help her, but she draws away from me. Her long hair tumbling over her forehead, she steadies herself.
“Margot, let me help you!” I pick up her pajamas.
She heaves herself up and sways. I catch her. I help her into her clothes. I smooth her damp hair away from her face.
She pulls away again.
Her contrary, obstinate, needless self-sufficiency both puzzles and saddens me.
She skews a faint smile. “Good night.”
In any other circumstances, I would’ve refused to leave just yet, would’ve helped her back to her bed in the attic and stayed with her a little longer, but Matteo is alone in my room. And the house is chock-full of people I didn’t know from Adam three weeks ago. While I’m fairly certain Sandra’s company harbors no sickos that would try to hurt my son, I’d rather be safe than sorry.
“Go to Matteo,” Margot says. “I’m still too dizzy to walk.”
“You can lean on me while I take you to your bed.”
“No.” She inhales and exhales slowly. “I just need another minute. I’ll be fine.”
I eye her with concern.
She leans on the wall and presses her cheek to it. “Goodbye, Jonas.”
Will she be there in the morning?
“Goodbye, Margot.” I hang my head and run downstairs.
CHAPTER28
JONAS
After breakfast, I see Celeste and Matteo off and join the theater gang in the Sky Hall. It has been transformed. The props and scenery are gone, probably shipped away with the trucks I heard outside while the three of us were having breakfast. The lights, mics, and other technical gadgets have disappeared, too. The hall is a set no more, having been returned to its ordinary function as a reception room.
