She came on the punishment stroke itself, which surprised no one present.
The apology sheared apart mid-vowel. Her eyes rolled up and away, her spine bowed off the boards, and the rest of the word poured out of her as one long, wrecked, happy wail while she convulsed around him, thighs quaking over his arms, heat flooding where they joined.
And through all of it she kept trying to finish the apology, "S... sorry... so-rry❤️...", every broken syllable arriving as its own small cloud of steam in the brazier light.
Quinlan wrung the climax out of her to its last twitch without slowing a fraction of a beat, and the smile on him while he worked was a sadist's, fond all the way down to its teeth.
It went on. He was never too quick, and never too slow, working her through orgasm after orgasm with the same patience he'd spent on her ironwood, changing the angle the moment she adapted, denying her a rhythm just as she had denied him points.
