Ch.19
The ORC couch was old leather, cracked in places, warm from the room. She pushed me down onto it and I went and she followed, one knee on either side of my hips, settling onto my lap with her skirt still bunched at her waist and her shirt buttoned wrong from where she'd tried to fix it between the desk and the floor.
She unbuttoned my shirt. Her fingers were still unsteady but they found each button and worked it open, exposing my chest and the crescent marks her nails had left during round one. She pushed the shirt off my shoulders and left it hanging from my arms and her hands pressed flat against my chest.
Her palms were warm. Her eyes were on mine.
"Slower," she said.
I put my hands on her thighs. Her stockings were ruined, a run starting at the left knee, the elastic at the top losing its grip. My thumbs traced circles on the bare skin above the stocking line and goosebumps rose under my fingers.
"Slower."
She reached between us. Her hand found my cock, half-hard against my thigh, sore and oversensitive from the desk. She stroked me. Her grip was confident, firmer than the first night, her thumb pressing along the underside, and the soreness made every nerve fire sharper and I hardened in her hand while she watched my face. She was studying me. My jaw when it tightened. My hips when they shifted at the right pressure.
She pulled her underwear to the side, the cotton damp and stretched from the first round, and positioned me against her. She was swollen, tender, still soaked from before and from new arousal, and when she sank down the slide was easy and slick and the wet sound it made in the quiet room was obscene.
"Ah-" Quiet. Her eyes stayed open. She held my gaze as she took me in.
She settled all the way down. Her weight on my hips, her knees pressing into the leather, and the couch was warm under my legs and cool where her stockinged knees pressed into the cracked surface. She held still with me fully inside her. Swollen and tight from round one, the grip was different, tighter in some places, tender. Her hands on my chest. Her crimson hair hanging around her face, pins long gone.
Then she moved.
Slow. Rolling her hips forward, grinding, and each roll dragged her clit across me and made her breathing catch. The angle from above was different, deeper when she ground down, and she controlled the depth and the pace and the friction. Her eyes were on my face. Watching.
I let her lead. My hands on her hips, thumbs on the bones, guiding but not driving. The desk had been mine. The couch was hers.
She rolled again. The leather creaked. Her pace was deliberate, each stroke full and grinding, and her body squeezed me on each forward roll and the wet friction between us was audible, slick, continuous. "Nn-" Quiet, under her breath, matching her rhythm. Her breasts swayed under the shirt, the top two buttons undone from the desk, and the mark on her collarbone was darkening and the flush was spreading down her chest.
My cock ached inside her. Oversensitive, every nerve firing sharper than the first round, and her slow grinding made the sensation build in a different way, less urgent, deeper, spreading from the base of my spine outward. Sweat was prickling at the back of my neck. Her thighs were warm and damp against my hips.
She sped up. Slightly. Her hips rolling faster, and the sound between us got louder, wetter, and her mouth opened and her eyes went half-lidded. "Mm- ah-" Each sound matching her pace. She wasn't suppressing anymore. The urgency of staying quiet had burned off with the first round and now she was just moving, chasing it.
I watched her. Her face above me, flushed and concentrated, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her blue-green eyes locked on mine. The composure, the heiress. All of it was on the floor with the reports. This was the girl underneath, rolling her hips on my cock on a leather couch, making sounds she wasn't bothering to contain.
I reached up and pulled her down. Her chest against mine, her mouth finding mine, and the kiss was slow and deep and her hips didn't stop. The angle changed, shorter strokes, grinding, her clit pressing against me on each roll, and her moans came into my mouth. "Mm- nn-" Vibrating against my lips.
Sweat was between us where our chests pressed together. Her shirt was damp at the collar. The leather creaked under us in a steady rhythm and her body was getting wetter around me and the friction was decreasing and the sounds were getting louder and neither of us was thinking about anything except what her hips were doing.
My hands slid to her ass. I gripped and pulled her down harder on each stroke and she gasped against my mouth and her fingers dug into my shoulders and her pace increased. Faster now. The couch creaking. Her body tightening around me, the grip increasing. Her breathing was getting shorter and her moans were louder and her hips were losing their deliberate rhythm and becoming desperate.
I pulled back from the kiss. Looked up at her. Her eyes were glassy and her mouth was wet and her hair was everywhere and the sweat on her temples caught the candlelight.
"Come for me."
Her jaw clenched. Her hips drove down, hard, grinding, and the Destruction energy flickered at her fingertips where they dug into my shoulders. Crimson arcs, small, crackling. The leather hissed where they touched the couch back.
"Ise- I'm-" Her hands gripped my shoulders. Her chin turned right. Her left hand went to the couch arm.
She came with a long, controlled exhale. Her body shuddered against mine, her pussy clenching in slow rhythmic waves that gripped me and released and gripped again. The Destruction energy crackled across her fingers and scorched the couch cushion beside my head, a palm-sized black mark that joined the existing coffee stain. Her back arched and her eyes closed and the exhale became a quiet "ah-" that trailed into silence and her hips ground down one last time and held.
I came inside her. The tightening and the heat and her body pulsing around me, and the orgasm rolled through me slow and deep and I gripped her hips and held her down and my forehead pressed against her collarbone and my vision narrowed to sensation. The energy transfer was there, faint, warm, barely a trickle. Diminishing returns, measured in the quiet pulse of the Boosted Gear's gem on my arm.
She collapsed forward. Her head on my chest, her hair across my neck and my face, her body heavy and warm and still. Her breathing was slow against my skin. The candles had burned low. The moth was still tapping the window. Her fingers traced the crescent marks she'd left on my shoulder, exploring the damage.
We lay there.
"I scorched your couch," she said.
"Our couch."
She was quiet for a second. Then her mouth curved against my chest. "Our couch."
After a while she sat up. Fixed her shirt, buttoning it correctly this time. Smoothed her skirt. Found a hairpin on the floor and pinned back the worst of the crimson mess. She looked at the scorch mark on the cushion and the two marks on the desk and the reports scattered everywhere.
"You scattered my pages."
"You were holding them too tight."
She smiled. Warm, tired, real. She knelt and started collecting reports. I buttoned my shirt, buckled my belt, and helped. One page had a boot print on it. Neither of us mentioned it.
We left separately. She locked the ORC. I walked through the gate ten minutes after. The ORC smelled like sex and scorched leather and Akeno was going to have questions in the morning.
At home, Asia was asleep. I sat on my bed. The Boosted Gear's gem pulsed faintly.
"Partner." Ddraig. Quiet, analytical. "Your reserves increased. Two rounds yielded approximately the same total transfer as one round from your initial encounter."
"Diminishing returns."
"Per partner. The initial bond is the largest transfer. Subsequent encounters yield less. The bond deepens, but the efficiency decreases."
"So the loop rewards new bonds."
"Genuine new bonds. Mechanical repetition yields diminishing returns. A deeper emotional connection recovers some ground, but the mathematics favor breadth alongside depth."
I lay back. The ceiling was dark. The power hummed quietly.
Breadth alongside depth. The harem math, stated by a dragon.
I closed my eyes.