CHAPTER 107: LAST STRAIGHT

The world vanished.

There was only the feeling of her. The slick, tight heat of her flesh coiling around me. The soft, heavy weight of her breasts brushing my chest. The sharp, sweet scent of her sweat and arousal.

My fingers dug into the soft curve of her hips. A silent plea. An anchor.

She moved again. A slow, deliberate rise. Then, a breathtaking fall that punched the air from my lungs. Her inner muscles clenched, a perfect, rippling pressure.

"See?" she breathed, her voice thick. "Just... a moment..."

But a moment stretched into another. And then another. Her rhythm was a slow, maddening torture. Each downward stroke was a jolt of pure sensation, filled with the return of the warmth and pressure. Each upward retreat was a sweet agony of loss, emptiness and cold.

My vision turned weird.

The dark room seemed to pulse with the rhythm of our bodies. I could feel every tiny tremor that ran through her. The fine shake in her arms braced on my chest. The quiver in her thighs where they met mine.

"Faster," I gritted out, my voice breaking free from the chains of my will and acting on its own.

Her only answer was a low, throaty laugh. She leaned down, her hair curtaining our faces. Her lips found my ear. "No," she whispered. She enclosed her mouth over my earlobe, sucking on it, pulling it up as if it was some sort of a stretchy candy.

Then, with an audible ’pop’ she let go, only to push her mouth open and huff hot air right against the part of my ear she just salivated all over.

The air in the room was cold, but her breath was hot.

"Not yet."

She continued her slow, grinding pace. It was unbearable. It was perfect. My hips twitched, trying to meet her, to spur her on. Her hands slid from my chest to pin my wrists to the bed beside my head. Her strength, usually hidden, was undeniable.

"My turn," she murmured, her words a direct line to my core.

She sat up fully, breaking contact for a heartbreaking second before taking me back in, deep. Her hands left my wrists and found her own breasts. She cupped them, her thumbs circling her own nipples. Her head fell back. A long, low moan escaped her lips.

The sight was my undoing.

A groan tore from my throat. My hands shot to her waist, not to guide, but to feel. To feel the powerful flex of her muscles as she rode me. To feel the damp heat of her skin. To feel the reality of her, above me, around me, consuming me.

Her pace began to quicken. The slow, sensual grind gave way to a needier, more urgent rhythm. The soft slaps of our skin filled the quiet room. Her breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps that matched my own.

"Yes..." she hissed, her voice cracking. "Just like that..."

We were losing control. The careful, teasing intimacy shattered under the weight of raw need. Our connection flared, a live wire. Her pleasure echoed in my veins. My desperation amplified her own. It was a feedback loop of sensation, pushing us both higher, faster.

I could see the shine of sweat on her stomach. On the beautiful, taut line between her ribs and hip. A single drop traced a path down her side.

Her movements became frantic, less controlled. Her perfect rhythm broke into a wild, hungry pounding. Her moans were continuous now, a high, keening sound of pure ecstasy.

I felt the coil in my gut tighten to its breaking point. My world narrowed to the feeling of her. The sight of her. The sound of her.

"Selia..." It was a warning. Or maybe a desperate plea?

Her eyes met mine. They were dark pools, glazed with pleasure. She understood. She drove up, her rise slowing with every centimeter she gained, coming to a stall when only my immense excitement made me hard enough to stay on track.

Then, one last time, she dove down hard, and held there.

A sound ripped from her, half scream, half sob. Her body seized, clenching around me in a series of violent, exquisite spasms. That final, perfect squeeze was the trigger.

My climax erupted. It was a white-hot flood, a release so intense it was almost painful.

My muscles clenched to the point my bones started to hurt. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me, draining every thought, every worry, every ounce of strength.

It was pure, liberating, fulfilling feeling. A vessel emptying into her welcoming heat all the while her convulsing insides continued to milk me out of my every drop.

For a long moment, there was nothing. No sound but our harsh, ragged breathing. No movement but the violent shuddering of our spent bodies.

Then, her arms gave out.

She collapsed forward onto my chest. A dead weight. Boneless. Completely spent. Her hot, damp skin pressed against mine. Her heart hammered against my ribs, a wild drum matching the frantic pace of my own.

We lay there, tangled. Ruined. The air was thick with the smell of us. Salt, sweat and sex. Our lungs fought for air, our chests heaving in unison.

Slowly, sensation returned. The cool night air on my overheated skin. The damp sheets beneath us. The heavy, satisfying weight of her on top of me. The slow, gentle aftershocks that still trembled through her.

I lifted a leaden arm and wrapped it around her back, holding her close. My fingers traced idle, lazy patterns on the slick skin of her shoulder blade. She nuzzled her face into the crook of my neck. Her breath was still hot and fast against my skin.

Neither of us spoke. Words were beyond us. There was only the slow, steady return to ourselves. The gradual slowing of our hearts. The gentle descent from that incredible peak.

Minutes stretched. The world outside our little cocoon of warmth and sweat didn’t exist.

"Mmmph," she finally mumbled into my neck. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated contentment.

I managed a low hum in response. My body felt heavy. Satisfied. Utterly drained.

My mind, however, began to drift. The intense sensory overload was fading, leaving a deep, profound calm. In this quiet, hazy state, a random thought surfaced.

’I could really go for a smoke, now.’

The idea was so mundane, so utterly out of place, that I almost laughed. A cigarette. The classic post-coital ritual of another world. I wondered if this world even had tobacco. Probably not. Another thing to miss. Another little piece of home forever out of reach.

But then a spark ignited in my tired brain. My system. And this weird, broken ability to design my own quests and assign appropriate rewards.

Who said I could only use it for perfectly practical reason?

What was to stop me from designing a quest to find tobacco seeds? To bring a piece of that old comfort here? The idea was ridiculous. Frivolous. And yet... it was possible. The experiment with the crepes proved it.

A small smile touched my lips. A project for another day.

Selia shifted slightly on top of me. Her breathing had finally evened out into a slow, deep rhythm. Her weight was comforting. Her warmth was a blanket.

But if she was my blanket... then what was there to protect her sweaty back from the chill of the night?

"You’re thinking loud," she slurred, half-asleep.

"Just... comfortable," I whispered back, my voice rough.

She made that content sound again. "Good."

We drifted. The silence was comfortable now. Chill. The frantic energy of before was completely spent. I closed my eyes, ready to let sleep take me again, wrapped in the sensation of her.

Then, I felt it.

A slight tension returned to her body. Not much. Just a faint coiling of muscles that had been completely relaxed moments before. Her breathing hitched, just for a second.

My eyes snapped open.

Her head lifted from my chest. In the deep gloom, I could just make out the glint of her eyes. They were no longer sleepy. They were hungry. Alive with a renewed, shocking fire.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips.

Downstairs, I could feel her most sacred place start moving and twitching again.

Energy, like a second wind, flooded my own veins. Exhaustion was burned away in an instant by a fresh wave of pure, undiluted want. It was the last straight of the race. The final, desperate push when you thought you had nothing left.

With a growl that came from somewhere deep in my chest, I moved.

I rolled us over in one swift, powerful motion. She gasped, a sound of sheer, amused surprise that quickly turned into a thrill. The world spun. Now I was on top. She was beneath me, her eyes wide, her smile now invited a challenge.

There were no more slow builds. No sensual teasing. This was raw. Primal. Pure mating.

I hooked my hands under her knees, pushing her legs up and back, opening her up to me completely.

A single line of my cum from the earlier intimacy trickled down the side of her most protected place - now fully exposed for me to do with as I desired.

She cried out, a short, sharp sound of approval. And so, I drove into her in one fierce, deep thrust.

She was still wet. Still sensitive from before. Her body clenched around me in shocked, overwhelming pleasure.

There were no more words. No whispered encouragements or intimate banter. Just the brutal, driving rhythm of my hips. The frantic, slapping sound of skin on skin. The ragged, gasping breaths that were torn from both our lungs.

Her nails scraped down my back. Her head thrashed side to side on the pillow. Her back arched, pushing her breasts up, her body meeting my every thrust with equal ferocity.

It was a race. A frantic, desperate climb. Sensation built, too fast, too intense to control. It was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

My vision whited out at the edges. Her cries became a continuous, mesmerizing, broken melody. I could feel her tightening, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around me, signaling her own crashing fall.

I plunged into her one last, final time, burying myself to the hilt as my own release exploded. It was a shorter, sharper climax than before. A final, devastating detonation that left us both shattered.

We collapsed.

A tangled, sweaty, exhausted heap of limbs. Completely spent. Truly, utterly, finally done. Not a single ounce of energy remained. The air was thick and hot, our activity somehow chasing away the chill of the night. Our bodies were slick. Our hearts hammered against each other, a frantic drumbeat slowly calming to a weary thud.

I could not move. I doubt she could either.

In the profound, crushing silence that followed, I managed to turn my head. My lips found her ear. My voice was a wrecked, breathless whisper, barely audible.

"I hope I’ve fulfilled my promise to your satisfaction."