Chapter 3: The Torrent of Surrender

His chuckle vibrated against her skin like thunder rumbling low in the distance, a storm not yet spent but gathering again, darker, fiercer. Marcus’s cock, still buried deep inside Elena’s pulsing heat, twitched with the promise of more—half-soft but stirring, slick with their mingled release, the evidence of their frenzy dripping slow between her thighs to join the cooling puddle beneath them. The kitchen tile bit cold into her back, a stark contrast to the furnace of his body pinning her down, chest heaving, sweat-slicked skin sticking where they touched. She could taste him on her lips—salt and musk from where she’d kissed his neck mid-thrust, biting hard enough to leave marks that would bloom purple by morning.

“Not even close,” he repeated, voice gravel-rough, eyes dark pools of hunger as he propped himself on one elbow, gazing down at her flushed face, her sundress rucked up around her waist like a surrendered flag. His free hand traced lazy circles on her thigh, fingers dipping into the wet mess they’d made, smearing it higher, teasing the crease where leg met hip. Elena shivered, her body a live wire, walls clenching around him involuntarily, drawing a hiss from his lips. “You started this, sweetheart. That little show with your ‘leak’—fuck, I’ve fixed pipes, but never one like yours.”

She arched beneath him, breasts pressing against his chest through the thin fabric, nipples scraping like pleas against his shirt. “Then keep fixing,” she whispered, nails raking down his back, shredding more threads, feeling the heat of his skin under her palms. The air hung heavy with their scents—her piss sharp and taboo, his cum thick and earthy, arousal a heady fog that made her head spin. He shifted, cock hardening fully inside her now, stretching her anew, the burn delicious as he rocked shallow, testing, teasing.

With a growl that sent fresh slick gushing around him, Marcus pulled out suddenly—wet pop echoing obscene in the quiet kitchen—leaving her empty, aching, clit throbbing like a heartbeat denied. He stood, hauling her up with him, strong arms banding around her waist, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Her legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, pussy grinding against the rough denim of his open jeans, his cock trapped hot and hard between them, smearing pre-cum on her belly. “Where’s the bedroom?” he demanded, mouth crashing to hers in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, biting her lower lip until she whimpered, tasting copper mingled with their flavors.

“Upstairs,” she gasped against his mouth, fingers knotting in his hair, pulling hard as he carried her, strides long and purposeful, toolbox forgotten on the floor like a discarded toy. Each step jostled her against him, clit rubbing friction that built fire low in her gut, her bladder—emptied but refilling from the water she’d chugged—pressing a subtle reminder, a new pressure layering the ache. The stairs creaked under his weight, her body bouncing in his arms, breasts jiggling free from the dress’s low neckline, nipples brushing his stubble as he nuzzled her cleavage, sucking a mark there that burned sweet.