He drove forward to the root. Held there. The full, 'every inch, no space remaining' depth of him buried in her ass while she shook beneath him.
"—I've already started." His hand left her breast and moved to her belly. Pressed flat. "I've already put something here."
She felt the pressure of his palm against her lower abdomen and felt — or imagined she felt, or did not want to know which — the 'something has changed in this space' warmth of it.
Her breath caught.
"And I've already gotten rid of your husband."
Silence.
The wet, 'his cock is inside me and I have stopped processing' silence of a woman who has heard a sentence and cannot locate an appropriate response to it.
"What," she said.
Flat. The word of a woman who has temporarily lost access to the rest of the sentence.
"Viktor—" She tried to turn. His weight over her back prevented it. "Did you— were you the one who—"
PAH! PAH!
"AAANGHH~!!"
He slammed into her and the sentence dissolved.
