Chapter 447: On the Kitchen Table [R18]
Chapter 447: On the Kitchen Table [R18]
The slow slaps of flesh echoed in the darkness, a faint light leaking from the pantry as Leona’s ripe peach quivered with each thrust. Her palms were flat on the counter, the cool stone misted by breath and the light sheen of condensation from her heated flesh.
The kitchen carried the lingering scent of spices and citrus, undercut by the sharp herbal burn clinging to his bandage and under that, the warmer musk spilling from them both. Outside, Londis’ rain rattled the window in hushed applause.
Nikolai drove forward like a man trying to hammer a nail into the world. His fingers dug into her hipbones, thumbs notching instinctively into familiar hollows, rolling her back onto him as his body chased relief it hadn’t earned.
The wolf inside him wanted something to prove that he was here, to remove the lingering pomegranate and rose that clung to his skin and drove him crazy. Each impact was violent, deliberate as if to gouge Leona’s insides with his swollen shaft, a wet clap that marched the seconds along.
Leona breathed with him, no… for him. She caught the tail of each ragged and frustrated breath and caught it smoothly, inhaling and adjusting their pace. “Easy…” she murmured, half-turning her head so he could see the edge of her profile, ginger hair sticking to the curve of her neck. “You’ll split the bench before you split me.”
“I…” He couldn’t speak well, her insides squeezing him gently, with a wet, slippery undulation. The words trapped in his throat, voice as rough as sand.
The itch under his ribs hadn’t vanished, only retreated like a tide that was considering its next strike. Madoka’s laugh, the broken porcelain, the VIP room. He pressed forward anyway, slapping against her buttocks, burying his cock to the root, and let a hoarse sound break free between clenched teeth.
“I know,” she said softly, lifting her hips and pushing back against him, unhurried… like a gentle lake, welcoming him deeper. “That’s why I’m here.”
Her calm was like an anchor, a warm palm on the belly of a beast. She took his length with a steadiness that denied the chaos of his rough movements. The little flex of her belly, the reflexive clench around him each time his swollen tip tried to crush her womb.
It wasn’t submission, but acceptance.
Leona used her body to speak, to understand him, trying to reassure and tell him that she would be his home, his refuge that would accept all his desires.