Chapter 358: A Dark Surprise

The four minutes passed in the warm quiet of the bedroom, Kelly’s head on his chest and Elena’s on his shoulder, both of them breathing slowly, the lamp doing its thing on the nightstand.

Then Kelly lifted her head.

She looked at Elena.

Elena opened one eye.

Something passed between them.

Not warmth exactly but the specific understanding of two people who had arrived at a shared objective from different directions and had decided temporarily that the objective was more important than the direction.

Kelly moved first.

She rolled off him and off the bed and stood up, her blonde hair completely undone, her skin flushed from her neck all the way down, and she looked at him still lying there.

"Floor," she said.

He looked at her.

"Come on," she said.

He got up.

She was already moving toward the clear space beside the bed, going down onto the rug on her back, and he moved with her and came down over her and she pulled him down and he pushed in and she made the sound she always made at the first stroke, sharp and immediate, her back arching off the rug.

He started moving.

On the bed behind him Elena had repositioned, on her back, her head on the pillow, watching them on the floor with her arms loose at her sides.

He drove forward into Kelly and reached one arm back toward the bed.

Elena understood immediately and moved toward his hand and he found her between her legs and pressed his fingers in.

"Oh," she said, her head going back into the pillow.

He kept going.

Kelly below him on the rug with her legs around his waist pulling him deeper, her sounds filling the room, her boobs moving with each stroke, and Elena on the bed behind him with his hand working steadily between her legs, her sounds mixing with Kelly’s in the warm air of the bedroom.

"Oh," Kelly said. "Oh god. Oh Liam."

Papap. Papap. Papap.

He drove harder, the rug beneath Kelly shifting slightly with the force of it, her hands finding the floor on either side of her and gripping, her whole body moving with the rhythm.

"Oh," Elena said from the bed. "Oh. Oh god."

He kept both things going, his hips and his hand, feeling both of them building simultaneously from their different positions, their sounds climbing together.

Kelly came first.

Her whole body locking, her legs pulling him in hard, a long sound tearing out of her into the bedroom that had nothing managed about it anywhere.

He held her through every wave of it until she went still and her legs released and she lay flat on the rug completely finished.

He withdrew slowly.

He turned to the bed.

Elena was there, her breathing uneven from his hand, her expression carrying the open quality it only had in this context, and he moved onto the bed over her and pushed in from this angle and she made a sound that went directly into the quiet of the room.

"Oh," she said. "Oh god. Oh that’s."

He started moving.

Long deep strokes, his weight over her, her legs coming up around him, and she received each one with the specific honesty of someone whose body had stopped translating everything through composure first.

"Oh," she said. "Oh Liam. Oh."

Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta.

He felt his own building and kept going, driving forward steadily, her sounds continuous and unmanaged beneath him until she came, her arms pulling him down against her, a long sound leaving her that started loud and kept going.

He followed her, releasing at once, a low rough sound through his jaw.

He stayed there for a moment.

Then he moved off her slowly and sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the room.

Kelly on the rug, one arm across her stomach, completely still.

Elena on the bed, her head turned to the side, her breathing deep and slow.

Both of them done.

He looked at himself.

Still hard.

’Third time,’ he thought, standing up quietly. ’I have come three times tonight and I am still hard. This is not normal. This has never been normal. I have simply accepted it as my life now.’

He moved to the bedroom door and went out into the hall and to the kitchen.

He found a glass and filled it from the tap and drank it standing at the counter in the quiet of the apartment, the kitchen dark except for the light coming under the door from the hall.

He set the glass down.

He looked at the counter.

He looked at the wall.

The shadow in the corner of the kitchen moved.

Not the way shadows moved when light changed. The way shadows moved when something inside them decided to move, a specific shift, a density rearranging itself, and then Stella stepped out of it.

She was wearing nothing.

Her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her skin carrying that specific quality it always had, the quality that did not fit neatly into any ordinary category. She looked at him with the expression she wore when she had been somewhere for a while and had been patient about it.

"You were having a lot of fun in there," she said. Her voice warm and entirely unbothered.

Liam looked at her.

Then the grin came to his face before he decided on it, the specific grin of someone who had completely forgotten about something and had just been reminded of it.

’I forgot she was here,’ he thought. ’Entirely. Completely forgot she existed for the last several hours. She has been in this apartment the whole time and I forgot she was in it.’

He looked at her standing in his kitchen in nothing at all.

She looked back at him with the patient warmth of someone who was very comfortable with where they were.

He crossed the kitchen.

He got his hands on her and pressed her back against the counter and she went back against it with the ease of something that had been waiting for exactly this and had no objections to it finally arriving.

He lifted her onto the counter.

She wrapped her legs around him immediately, her arms going around his neck, and he pushed in and she made the sound that was specifically hers, lower than Kelly’s and different from Elena’s, a sound that carried its own particular warmth.

He started moving.

Hard from the first stroke, the counter shifting slightly, her hands gripping the back of his neck, her sounds arriving without any attempt at management, full and honest and filling the kitchen.

"Oh," she said. "Oh master. Oh god."

He drove harder.

She took it with the specific ease of something built for this, her hips working back against each stroke, her boobs pressing against his chest, her sounds continuous.

Papap. Papap. Papap.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh yes. Oh god yes."

He pulled her off the counter without warning, his hands under her, and carried her to the couch still inside her, her legs locked around his waist, and he pressed her down into the cushions and drove forward from above.

"Haa," she said. "Oh. Oh that’s. Oh god."

He kept going, the couch absorbing the motion, her whole body receiving each stroke with the enthusiastic commitment of something that had been waiting since considerably earlier in the evening.

He drove harder.

"Oh," she said. "Oh master. Oh. Oh I’m going to."

He did not slow down.

She came, her whole body locking, her legs pulling him in hard, a sound leaving her that went through the apartment and kept going, her hips pressing forward through every wave.

He held her through it.

Then he pulled her off the couch.

She understood, her feet finding the floor, and she went down onto her hands and knees there in the living room without being asked, looking back at him over her shoulder with the expression of someone who had no complaints about any of this.

He got behind her.

He pushed in from this position and she made a sound that pressed into the carpet in front of her and his hands found her hips and he drove forward with everything.

Papap. Papap. Papap. Papap.

"Oh," she said into the floor. "Oh god. Oh master. Oh."

Her ass shook with each impact, the flesh of it warm and full in his hands, and he gripped it properly and kept going, the living room floor beneath them, the kitchen behind him, the bedroom and its sleeping occupants down the hall, all of it contained in the same apartment in the same night.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh I’m. Again. Oh god."

She came again, harder than the first, her hands pressing into the carpet, her whole body shaking through it.

He followed her, his hands gripping her hips hard, everything releasing in long deep pulses while she pressed back against him through all of it.

He stayed there for a moment.

Then he pulled back and sat on the floor beside her.

She lay flat, her hair everywhere, her chest rising and falling, her expression carrying the specific satisfaction of something that had waited and had been very well compensated for the wait.

She turned her head and looked at him.

"I missed you," she said.

"I know," he said.

She smiled.

He looked at the ceiling of the living room.

Through the hall he could hear the slow deep breathing of two women in the bedroom, both of them entirely finished with consciousness for the foreseeable future.

He looked at Stella.

She was already looking at him.

"You should sleep," he said.

"I don’t really sleep," she said pleasantly.

He looked at the ceiling again.

"Of course you don’t," he said.