Syril remained buried deep inside her, chest rising and falling against hers, sweat cooling slowly on their skin. Amy's legs were still loosely wrapped around his waist, her fingers tracing lazy, uneven patterns along the back of his neck.
The room smelled like sex and lavender. The sheets beneath them were already a mess.
Amy barely needed time for recovery before she demanded another round.
She was the first to speak, her voice hoarse and low.
"…Again."
Syril lifted his head just enough to look at her. Her jade eyes were hazy, lips swollen and red, blonde hair a tangled mess across the pillow. There was no hesitation in her expression.
Only hunger.
"You're sure?" he asked, though his cock was already starting to harden again inside her, responding to the tight heat that still surrounded him.
Amy clenched around him deliberately, slow, deliberate, and tight enough to make his breath catch.
"Don't ask me that," she whispered. "Just fuck me again."
That was all he needed.
