Penis Reduction Seduction
Copyright© 2025 by Kacey Loveington
Chapter 10
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 10 - Married Doctor helps the kid next door with his big problem. Dr. Zoe Monroe was trained to help. But when the issue turns out to be size, not sickness, she finds herself caught between clinical curiosity and a hunger she can’t quite suppress. — A slow, teasing descent into temptation, boundaries, and the kind of longing no textbook could ever prepare her for.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Slut Wife Interracial Black Male White Female Oral Sex Doctor/Nurse Size
The bedroom was thick with heat — oppressive, decadent, delicious. The kind that clung to skin and memory alike. The scent of sweat, sex, and something darker — something primal — hung in the air like smoke. The sheets beneath them were ruined, soaked through with the aftermath of everything they’d done. Not love. Not tenderness.
Ruin.
Zoe lay draped across Nate like a conqueror catching her breath, one toned leg slung over his hip, her body still humming from the climax she’d ridden out not minutes ago. Her skin was slick, glowing — not with afterglow, but with anticipation. Her breath came shallow, measured, as if pacing herself for the next round. Beneath her, she could feel him — still inside her, impossibly thick, impossibly deep — and he was getting hard again.
Still growing.
Still stretching.
A low, almost disbelieving laugh escaped her lips as her head tipped against his chest. Her fingers traced slow, teasing circles across the sweat-slick ridges of his abdomen.
“You’re still inside me,” she murmured, the words reverent and dirty all at once. “And you’re getting hard again.” She flexed her hips slightly, letting the weight of her cunt press down around his thickening shaft. “God, you’re still fucking hard.”
Nate groaned, his voice a gravel-drag of lust and helpless awe. One large hand slid down to cup her ass, squeezing with proprietary greed. “Can’t help it. Your pussy’s got a mind of its own. Clenching around me like it’s trying to keep me.”
Zoe smiled — slow, dangerous.
“It is,” she whispered. “I’m not done. Not even fucking close.”
She shifted without asking, without warning. Lifted herself just enough to adjust, then sank down again, her body swallowing him inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside her once more. Her thighs flexed. Her core pulsed. Her cunt stretched and took him like it had been trained for this — moulded around him like he was hers by design.
Zoe sat up on him, her spine long, proud, her breasts heavy and swaying as she began to move — not shy, not slow, not sweet.
Purposeful.
Predatory.
Grinding at first. Deep, tight circles that let every ridge and swollen vein of his cock drag against the places that made her gasp. Made her clench. Made her forget her name.
Beneath her, Nate moaned — deep and raw — but he didn’t take control.
She didn’t let him.
His hands found her hips but she slapped them away, pinning them to the mattress beside his head.
“No,” she murmured, her voice a growl behind her teeth. “You don’t touch. You don’t thrust. You stay right there and feel me fuck myself on this monster cock of yours. This is mine now.”
She began to move faster, riding him with a rhythm that was pure indulgence — full-bodied, deliberate, merciless. Her thighs slapped against his with every bounce, her cunt making obscene, wet sounds as it took him again and again. She was a force, hips rolling, ass clapping against his skin, eyes locked on his as if daring him to last.
“You feel that?” she hissed, sweat dripping from her jaw as she leaned in close. “That’s my body milking you. That’s your cock leaking inside me. I can feel it. I’m still fucking dripping from you.”
She circled her hips again and gasped — high and sharp.
“You like this?” she taunted, voice breathless now, lips curling as she fucked herself harder. “You like how wet I am for you? How tight I stay no matter how many times you’ve come inside me?”
Nate’s head rolled back with a groan that bordered on helpless.
“You’re ... unreal,” he rasped, his voice shredded. “You’re soaking me, Zoe. Every time you ride me it sounds like a fucking symphony of sin.”
His hands finally moved — reverent now — sliding up her waist, slow and hungry, then higher to cup her breasts. He lifted them, squeezed them, thumbs brushing over her nipples until her whole body trembled above him.
“These tits,” he growled, his voice low and reverent, “are perfect. You are perfect.”
Zoe moaned loudly, arching into his touch, her rhythm faltering only to grind herself harder against him, deeper. Her hands slammed back to his chest, nails dragging down with enough pressure to sting.
“No,” she panted. “I’m not perfect. I’m yours. And I want you to ruin me again.”
And then she moved harder — with abandon, with fury, with hunger so feral it threatened to swallow them both.
“I want this cock,” she growled, hips crashing down, her eyes wild with feral lust. “All of it. Every fucking inch. I want to ride it until my legs give out. I want to cum so many times I forget how to speak.”
And then she did.
Her body tensed — a taut bowstring pulled to breaking — and the orgasm hit her like a lightning strike. Sudden. Deep. Devastating. Her thighs shook violently, her whole body convulsing as she let out a cry that was raw, unfiltered, animal. Her pussy clenched around him with ruthless spasms, as if trying to wring him dry, to milk every last drop from the thick shaft buried inside her.
But she didn’t stop.
Even as her body shuddered. Even as her vision blurred. Even as her cunt leaked down his cock and onto his thighs in hot, sticky trails. She kept moving. Kept fucking. Kept riding him like a woman possessed — her mind short-circuited by pleasure, her body ruled by need.
Her hands gripped his chest like anchors, her nails dragging down his slick skin, marking him. Owning him.
“I fucking love this cock,” she hissed through her moans, her breath ragged, her body flushed and soaked. “I love what it does to me. I love how it splits me open. How it breaks me. How it turns me into something I never knew I could be.”
Nate groaned — a low, desperate sound, no longer in control. His hands gripped her hips now with bruising force, his body arching up into hers, meeting her thrust for thrust.
“You’re gonna make me cum again,” he growled, voice breaking against the edge.
“Do it, ” she gasped, slamming down onto him. “Fucking do it. Fill me again. I want it leaking out of me while I’m still grinding your cum deeper inside.”
That was it.
With a strangled roar, Nate bucked up into her and came — hard. Hot. Violent. She felt it — that first explosive pulse, then the flood, the thick flood of it — pouring into her already wrecked pussy. It filled her to the brim and kept coming, spilling around him, slicking her thighs, the bed, everything.
Zoe’s mouth dropped open in a silent moan as she felt it gush out, her own walls clenching greedily to keep it, to hold it. But it was too much. Too much. It ran in thick rivulets down his cock and over his balls, soaking the ruined sheets.
She slowed — finally — her rhythm faltering as her limbs gave out. She collapsed forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, her body quaking with aftershocks. Nate’s arms wrapped around her instinctively, both of them drenched, panting, their skin sticking where they touched, their bodies a perfect, trembling mess.
There were no words.
Only the sound of breath. Of heartbeats. Of their combined slickness still seeping between her thighs, their sweat mixing, the air dense with the scent of lust and surrender.
Then, barely audible, lips brushing his shoulder, Zoe whispered:
“I don’t care if I can’t walk later.”
Nate didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
He just held her tighter, still buried inside her, still twitching.
And Zoe smiled.
Their bodies remained a decadent sprawl across the sheets — limbs tangled, skin glowing, the scent of sex still thick in the air. It clung to them: sweat, arousal, and the slick, undeniable evidence of just how thoroughly they’d wrecked each other. Zoe was draped across Nate’s chest like a sated lioness, one thigh lazily thrown over his, her breath tickling the curve of his shoulder. His palm rested against the small of her back, fingers splayed wide, cradling the curve of her ass like he was still claiming her — even in stillness.
Zoe exhaled a long, contented sigh, her cheek nuzzling the warmth of his skin before she glanced down. Between her thighs, his seed still leaked slowly, thick and warm, slicking the insides of her legs in slow, sticky rivulets. The bedding was soaked. Her body, sore. Her cunt, twitching.
“We’re such a fucking mess,” she murmured, the words dripping with lazy satisfaction.
Nate chuckled, the sound deep and indulgent in his chest. “Your fault. You rode me like you had something to prove.”
Zoe smirked and pressed a lazy kiss to his clavicle. “I did,” she purred. “And I proved it.”
He groaned, a hand smoothing over the arch of her spine to palm her ass again. “Yeah. You proved it. I’ll be walking funny for a week.”
Zoe laughed and slowly peeled herself off him, every movement languid and feline. Her thighs stuck faintly with slick as she sat up, stretching her arms high overhead, the muscles of her abdomen flexing in graceful relief. She felt raw. Thoroughly used. And beautifully, obscenely alive.
She stood — bare, proud, dripping — and turned her head just enough to look back over her shoulder. Her ass was streaked with the aftermath of what they’d done. His cum shimmered between her legs.
“Come on,” she said, voice low and deliciously commanding. “Only one way to clean this up.”
They moved like mirrors, fluid and silent, the choreography of people who had crossed a line and weren’t turning back. They stepped into the ensuite bathroom, where warm light glowed against cream tiles, and the faint scent of lavender and skin lingered from the night before. Zoe flicked the shower on, and steam rose quickly, curling into the air like breath.
She turned to face him, steam wreathing around her damp hair and flushed skin, her eyes hooded and soft — but not submissive.
She lifted one finger and crooked it slowly.
Nate came without a word.
The hot spray cascaded over them as she pulled him under, their skin slicking with water, heat, tension. Their bodies collided — not with the hunger of before, but something richer. Deeper. Like tasting a favourite meal slowly after devouring it.
Zoe’s hands slid around his waist, then up his back, her fingers dragging faint tracks through the water. She kissed him — not a rush, not a demand, but a deep, slow unfolding of want. Tongues brushed. Lips sealed. A dance of breath and warmth and quiet hunger.
Nate’s hands roamed her back, then settled low again, his grip tightening when her breasts pressed against his chest. The water ran in rivulets between them, over her shoulders, down her spine, slicking the undersides of her breasts and the soft cleft between her legs. Her nipples were hard — swollen, sensitive from everything he’d done to her — and she moaned when they grazed his chest.
“You feel so good,” she whispered against his mouth. “I still can’t believe how good this feels.”
She rolled her hips forward, slowly grinding her slick mound against the base of his cock. Not fucking — just pressure. Connection. She could feel him start to swell again, twitching against her hip, rising with impossible readiness.
“You make me feel like...” She paused, her eyes darkening. “Like I’ve never really been with anyone until now.”
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands now cupping her ass, lifting slightly — grounding her to him like he couldn’t stand the idea of even water existing between them.
And they just stood there, bodies pressed together, heat curling around them, cock thickening between them, her heart pounding with the quiet, inevitable knowledge that even in this softness...
She was still in control.
The heat of the water poured over them in rhythmic sheets, curling steam thickening in the corners of the glass like the room itself was trying to veil the obscenity of what was unfolding. Zoe knelt on the slick tile, her body gleaming under the cascade, every inch of her glistening like sin carved from silk. Her thighs were parted wide for balance, her knees slick against the warm ceramic, her soaked hair plastered to her shoulders and breasts. Her breath came shallow, flushed with need, and her gaze when it lifted to Nate’s was nothing short of feral.
She smiled — slow, dangerous — and wrapped both hands around his cock.
God, he was getting hard again.
Already thick. Already heavy. Already growing in her grip like her hunger had summoned it from deep inside him. She could feel the pulse, the heat, the slow, demanding swell of that monster cock as it hardened inch by inch. Her fingers couldn’t fully meet — not around the base, not even halfway. It throbbed in her palms like it had a mind of its own.
“You never stop getting hard for me,” she whispered, her voice almost reverent. “Like your cock knows what I need before I say it.”
She stroked him slowly at first — reverently — letting the water and pre-cum create a slick, glossy sheen across every dark vein, every swollen ridge. Her thumbs circled over the tip, smearing the pearly droplet that had already formed there, watching it streak over the head like anointing oil. Her hands moved with hungry precision — sliding, twisting, coaxing.
Then she leaned in.
Her tongue dragged from base to tip, slow and flat and deliberate — tasting him like a woman starved. She moaned as she licked, the sound vibrating into his flesh, making his cock jump in her hands. She circled the head with her tongue, teasing the underside, then flicked across the slit with delicate precision.
And then she opened her mouth.
Wide.
Wider.
Her lips stretched around the head as she took him in, sealing tightly with a soft, desperate moan.
The moment he entered her mouth, something changed. Her moan deepened, turned guttural. Her jaw tensed with effort, and she began to feed him in like she’d trained for it — inch after thick inch, her lips wet and glossy, her throat opening with controlled force. Her hands worked the base while her mouth devoured the top, saliva spilling freely from the corners of her lips as she took him deeper.
Nate gasped — one hand slapping against the tile behind him, the other gripping the back of her head, fingers threading through her drenched hair. “F-fuck, Zoe— Jesus...”
But she didn’t stop.
She wanted this.
The sound was pornographic: wet slurps and slick strokes echoing in the tight acoustics of the shower, mixing with the hiss of the spray and Nate’s low, helpless groans.
Zoe moaned again, the sound messy and raw and impossibly erotic. Drool spilled down her chin, a thick string dripping onto her tits, joining the water that streamed across her skin. Her throat tightened, swallowed, adjusted — her body struggling around the size of him but never giving up. Not for a second.
The suction was relentless. Her cheeks hollowed, her lips shined, the slurping and wet gurgle of her effort filled the space like music. She was a vision of depravity — hair matted, face flushed, her jaw flexing as she took him again and again, deeper each time. She gagged softly but held — wanted it — used the discomfort as fuel. Her eyes rolled back and then fluttered open, locking onto his with a wild, glassy stare that said everything.
I love this. I need this. I own this.
She adjusted her angle, tilted her head, and then slammed herself down until the head of his cock hit the back of her throat — and went further.
Nate cried out, legs trembling.
Zoe didn’t stop.
She pressed forward, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes as she forced him deeper. Her throat spasmed, saliva spilling in thick streams down his shaft, over her hands, down her chest. She held there — throat bulging, lips stretched, choking on the sheer length of him — before pulling back with a loud, gasping slurp that echoed off the tile like thunder.
When she finally pulled off, her mouth popped free with an obscene wet sound.
Strings of spit clung between her lips and his cock, stretched and shining, drool dripping from her chin to her tits like pearls. She sat back slightly on her heels, chest heaving, mouth open, tongue out as if even now she couldn’t get enough of the taste.
She looked up at him — her makeup ruined, her hair drenched, her mouth glossy and raw — and she was breathtaking. Wrecked. Radiant. Ferocious.
“I’ve been thinking about this cock since the moment you stepped into my office,” she said, voice hoarse and thick with need, her breath fanning hot over the glistening head of his cock. “Since the second I saw that bulge in your sweatpants.”
She kissed the tip, lovingly.
“I still can’t believe,” she panted, licking her lips, “you ever asked about a reduction.”
Nate blinked down at her, dazed and panting, as if pulled from the edge.
She dragged her tongue slowly along the underside, flicked at the frenulum, then kissed it again.
“This cock is perfect,” she murmured, her voice velvet filth. “Dangerous, maybe...” She gave the thick shaft one more stroke — slow, tight, reverent — then locked eyes with him. “ ... but fucking perfect.”
“And if I ever meet the doctor who approved that referral...” she purred, her voice dark with promise, “I’ll chop his balls off.”
Nate laughed — breathless, strained, overwhelmed.
And then she opened her mouth wide again.
“You’re ... Jesus ... you’re insatiable...” Nate gasped — breathless, broken, his voice raw from restraint.
His back hit the tile behind him with a dull thud, one arm braced above his head, the other buried in her soaked hair, fingers curling tight.
“I can’t even keep up with you...”
Zoe moaned in response, deep and guttural, his cock stretching her mouth, pushing deeper with each pass. Her throat clenched around him. Her tongue fluttered along the underside of his shaft like she loved the way he felt — and she did. She was obsessed with it. Addicted. She stroked the base while her mouth worked the top, her hand never leaving the weight of his balls, squeezing them in rhythm, milking him with calculated, merciless patience.
The noises were unspeakably filthy: wet slurps, the slap of her chin against his pelvis, the faint echo of her gag and his desperate groans. Water beat down around them like applause.
Then it happened.
Nate’s entire body tensed. His thighs locked. His abs went tight and hard. And his groan — long, guttural, ruined — ripped through the steam as his cock throbbed violently in her mouth.
“Z-Zoe—fuck, I’m gonna—”
She didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch.
She moaned around him and sucked harder.
He came.
Hard. Sudden. Endless.
Thick, scorching ropes spilled into her throat in hot bursts. Her lips stayed sealed around the base of his cock as it pulsed, over and over, emptying him completely. Her throat flexed, swallowed, drank him greedily. She didn’t pull back. She didn’t waste a drop. Her eyes fluttered shut, her whole body humming with satisfaction as he unloaded down her throat like she was meant for this — born to take his cum, to savour it, to own it.
Only when he softened — finally, trembling, spent — did she let him go.
His cock slipped from her lips with a slow, wet pop.
Strings of spit and cum clung to her lips, stretching between her mouth and his slick tip. She licked it up with slow, purposeful passes of her tongue, then kissed the underside softly, reverently, as if thanking him.
Then she sat back on her heels, her chest rising and falling in slow waves, her body soaked, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes were radiant — wrecked but powerful, proud.
She licked a drop from the corner of her mouth.
“Looks like I finally emptied those big, studly balls of yours,” she said with a crooked, satisfied smirk. “I’ll need to update your file.”
Nate didn’t speak. Couldn’t. His entire body was trembling, his cock twitching even in its softening state, his jaw slack.
And Zoe?
She just smiled wider. Because she wasn’t just his doctor anymore.
She was his addiction. Just like he was hers.
They collapsed into bed sometime after the shower — warm, clean, and still glowing from the quiet devastation they’d wrought upon each other. The sheets had been changed, a half-hearted attempt on Zoe’s part to restore some illusion of order, of normalcy, of domestic rhythm. But that illusion lasted barely minutes. Now, the bed was tangled again with heat and friction, with damp skin and the sheen of desire still clinging to their limbs like mist.
The bedroom was quiet, but not still. The kind of silence that thrummed beneath the skin, heavy with possibility. Outside, soft daylight spilled through the curtains, brushing the walls in gold. Somewhere distant, a lawnmower buzzed — a reminder that the world still turned. But within this room, time had narrowed to breath, to pulse, to the weight of one man’s body against the curve of one woman’s surrender.
They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. They simply existed — bodies slack with satisfaction, skin still flushed, hearts beating in shared rhythm. Zoe’s damp hair spread across the pillow like a dark halo, her face turned slightly toward Nate, her mouth slack with the depth of sleep that only comes after being fucked thoroughly, worshipped completely. One arm was tucked beneath her cheek, the other draped across his chest like she’d reached for him even in dreams. Her breath was soft, even, her body warm and radiant with the fading scent of lavender, cocoa butter, and sex.
Nate lay still beside her, unmoving, watching. Just watching.
His gaze traveled the length of her — from the delicate lines of her collarbone to the lazy curve of her waist, to the faint red pressure-marks where his hands had gripped her too hard, too possessively, like he’d been afraid she might slip away. She hadn’t. She was here, stretched out like the afternoon was hers to command. And even in sleep, she glistened faintly between her thighs — the softest sheen of arousal, of afterglow, of a body that hadn’t just been fucked, but revered.
He stared at her for a long time.
Then he moved.
Quietly, he slid down the bed, easing the sheet from her hips, exposing the soft, parted cradle of her legs. He started with a kiss — the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate, like a prayer. Then another. And another. His mouth pressed higher, inch by inch, each kiss more intimate than the last, until he hovered just above her slick, still-swollen mound. He paused, just for a moment, to inhale her — the scent of her, the heat of her — and then he let his tongue drag upward in one long, worshipful stroke.
Zoe stirred, softly at first. Her breath caught, her hips shifting instinctively toward the heat of his mouth.
He licked her again, slower this time. Then circled her clit — once, twice — and pressed a kiss directly to it.
She gasped in her sleep.
Her back arched faintly, legs twitching. She was half-dreaming, half-feeling, her consciousness caught between realms — but her body knew what was happening. Knew him.
He spread her gently, thumbs brushing along the folds, and began to work her with his tongue — deep, luxurious strokes that started low and ended in delicate flicks of her clit. Not fast. Not frenzied. This wasn’t about making her cum.
Not yet.
This was about reverence. About tasting. About her.
Her moans thickened slowly, like honey warming in the sun. Her hips began to roll in small, languid movements, rhythm building as her hand drifted down and found his hair, fingers curling tight.
“N-Nate...” she whimpered, voice slurred from sleep, her thighs tightening around his head. “Oh my god...”
That only spurred him on.
He flattened his tongue, dragging it slowly over her slit, then teased just the tip against her clit in a slow figure-eight until she began to writhe. Her breath came in gasps now, hands fisting in his hair, her hips lifting off the mattress to chase every flick, every press. He sucked her clit once — hard and deep — and she cried out.
The orgasm took her like a wave crashing against soft shore. It wasn’t loud — not at first — but it was deep. A full-body pulse that made her stomach clench and her cunt spasm around nothing, leaking freely across his tongue and chin. Then came the cry — primal, cracked, almost helpless — as her thighs locked around his head and her body rocked up into his mouth, chasing every ounce of release.
Only then did she open her eyes.
She blinked down at him, dazed and radiant, her chest still heaving. He met her gaze as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawled back up beside her, his body flush with hers, heart pounding.
“You awake now?” he murmured, brushing a kiss to her temple.
Zoe gave a breathless laugh, eyes glassy, voice slurred with afterglow. “You bastard,” she whispered, smiling like a drunk goddess. “You ate me in my sleep.”
“You moaned my name,” he replied, deadpan. “I took it as consent.”
She laughed again, louder this time, and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Their bodies fell naturally into a spoon, her back to his chest, legs tangled, every inch of skin against skin. He was hard again — impossibly so — his cock thick and pulsing between the soft cheeks of her ass. She reached back, found him without looking, and guided him between her legs.
He slid into her with a patience that felt like worship. Her cunt, still soft and soaked from orgasm, welcomed him with a gasp — a helpless, feminine sound dragged from deep in her chest as his cock pushed slowly inside. The stretch wasn’t violent now, but it was profound. Even after everything they’d done, she was still tight, still gasping around him, still adjusting to the obscene fullness of his girth. It was like being taken for the first time all over again — her pussy quivering, parting inch by thick inch to accept him. Her breath hitched as he bottomed out. She could feel every ridge, every throb, the way her walls fluttered around the thickness of him. It wasn’t a pounding now. It was something else. Something deeper. He spooned her close, chest to her back, one arm cradling her neck like something precious, the other curved over her waist, palm pressing flat over her belly as if to feel himself inside her.
He began to move. Long, slow strokes that stayed buried, grinding against her with intimate weight. There was no rush, no chase — just the heavy, honey-slow thrust of a man who wanted her to feel it. All of it. Every inch. Every drag. Every wet, sighing slide of his cock through her swollen folds. The sounds were hushed but obscene — the slick glide of wetness, the soft hum of skin on skin, the faint catch in Zoe’s throat each time he pressed deeper. Their bodies stuck together with sweat and steam, but the connection was something more — not just flesh, but soul. Shared breath. Shared heat.
Zoe turned her head just enough to find his mouth. The kiss was open and languid, all lips and tongue and soft whimpers exchanged between them. It was a kiss that said don’t stop. That said I belong here. Her hand slid over his at her belly, gripping it tight, needing the anchor.
“I love how you feel,” she whispered against his lips, voice thick with lust and something more. “I love how you stay hard for me. I want you inside me ... always. I love your big, black cock, Nate ... every delicious, thick inch of it. The way it stretches me. The way it fills me. The way it owns me.”
Nate groaned, his lips brushing her ear, hot and reverent. “You feel like fucking heaven,” he murmured. “Tightest, wettest pussy I’ve ever had. You’re perfect, Zoe. You were made for me. Made for my cock!”
That did something to her. Her body tightened — involuntarily — around him, and her orgasm crept up suddenly, not the explosive kind from earlier, but a slow, rolling quake that spread from her core outwards. Her thighs twitched. Her breath stuttered. Her cunt clenched and rippled around his cock like it was trying to keep him. She gasped, her hips jerking back into his as she rode the wave, eyes fluttering shut.
Nate groaned deeply in her ear and thrust harder, deeper — three, four times — before burying himself completely and holding there. He came with a shudder. Zoe felt the heat of it immediately — thick, slow pulses spilling inside her, hot and deliberate. It wasn’t just an orgasm. It was a claiming. She could feel her pussy stretch around the still-throbbing thickness of him, could feel the rich flood of his cum filling every inch of her. It leaked around his shaft, down her thigh, pooling beneath her in warm, wet proof of everything they’d done.
But she didn’t pull away. She lay there, still joined with him, their bodies pressed so tightly together they might have been one. Her hand drifted down to rest over the place where they met — where he was still buried inside her, still twitching.