Chapter 355: Keeping it on the Low-Down [3]

"Ah... Ang... Haa..."

Each thrust pinned her higher.

Each withdrawal left her heels digging into his back for more.

The angle was brutal and direct.

Her breasts pressed to his chest.

Green hair stuck to both their faces.

The wet slap of it stayed low, swallowed by the constant thunder outside, but the feeling was anything but careful.

"You said take you apart," he growled against her ear.

"Properly. Without unfinished lines. This is the part of the inventory you do not put on a board."

Firlia’s arms locked around his neck.

Her voice came in broken fragments between impacts.

"Haa—too deep—I can feel—ah—"

"Good. Feel it."

He kissed Firlia fiercely to stifle her moans.

"You spent the whole climb watching everyone else get carried. Now you get held the only way that matters."

He shifted his grip, one forearm under her ass to spread it wider, the other braced on the stone beside her head, and drove up harder.

Firlia bit her own wrist to kill a cry.

Her cunt fluttered around him in warning pulses.

Kane didn’t ease off.

"Hnnng...!"

He kept the rhythm until she shattered against the wall, a long, shaking climax that left her clinging and wet and barely able to keep her legs locked.

He was still hard inside her.

"Down," he said.

He lowered her only long enough to turn her and put her on the spread cloak on the floor.

Then he caught both her ankles, lifted her legs and opened them, and folded them toward her chest until she was spread under him with nowhere to go.

He pushed back into her in one continuous stroke, and the new angle dragged a raw, startled sound out of her throat.

"Kane—that is—"

"That is the rest of the line."

He planted his hands on either side of her head and fucked her like an animal: deep, relentless, hips slamming, the wet plap of skin on skin louder now despite the waterfall.

"You wanted unfinished business finished. You get all of it. Just this."

He grabbed Firlia’s boobs and thrust his hips harder.

Firlia’s hands scrambled for purchase on the cloak, then on his shoulders, then on anything solid while he pounded into her.

Her green hair spread across the dark fabric in a bright wreck.

Her mouth stayed open in silent and then not-so-silent gasps.

"Ah—ah—haa—Kane—I am going to—"

"Then go. Again."

He hooked her knees higher over his shoulders and leaned in, folding her tighter, and the change made her eyes roll.

"Hi...ng...!"

The next climax hit her harder than the first: body locking, pussy milking him in greedy waves, a muffled sob buried against his collarbone.

Kane rode her through it without slowing, chasing his own edge with the same focused violence he brought to problems that refused to stay half-solved.

"Look at me," he ordered.

Firlia forced her eyes open.

Moonlight and hearth-glow caught the wet tracks at the corners. She looked wrecked and present and no longer anything like a blank line.

"You exist," he said between thrusts.

"On this stone. In this room. Under me. Say it."

"I—ah—I exist—"

"Louder. Quietly louder."

"I exist."

Her voice cracked.

"I am not a blank—Kane—please—"

He gave her the last of it.

A final series of deep, punishing strokes that drove her up the cloak an inch at a time, then he buried himself to the hilt and came with a rough, suppressed groan, flooding her while her body still pulsed around him in aftershocks.

Firlia stuck out her lips and gasped in orgasm.

For a long moment the only sounds were their breathing and the waterfall and Kessa’s distant, untroubled snore.

Kane carefully lowered her legs.

Firlia stayed where she was, thighs open, green hair a disaster, both of them slick and marked, his release already leaking from her onto the cloak.

She made no move to close her legs or reach for the neat pile of clothes.

When she finally spoke, her voice was destroyed and almost steady.

"That... was not efficient."

"No."

Kane braced over her on one arm and kissed the corner of her swollen mouth.

"It was complete. Permanent column. You don’t get to inventory yourself out of the household again, not when the ridge is burning, not when the Elder calls at dawn, not when some future list tries to tell you no one would notice if you were gone."

Firlia’s hand found his hair and tugged once, weak and certain.

"The shelf is going to be wrong in the morning."

"Let it be wrong."

He rested his forehead against hers.

"You are not."

Firlia sat up.

The movement was deliberate, the same precision she used on a finished inventory.

She didn’t reach for the clothes.

She folded her legs under her on the cloak and straightened her spine until she was upright in the hearth-corner’s shadow, naked, green hair a tangled spill down her back and over one breast.

Moonlight from the high shutter cut across her.

It turned the sheen of sweat on her collarbones silver.

It caught the flush still high on her cheeks and throat.

Between her parted thighs, his release was obvious: thick, pale, leaking from her in a slow trickle that ran down over the skin of her inner thigh and onto the cloak.

She made no move to wipe it away.

Kane stayed on one knee in front of her, still half-dressed, watching.

Firlia’s voice, when it came, was hoarse and oddly calm.

"I can feel you running out of me."

"I know."

"It is going to be on my thighs when I put the trousers back on. When I walk to the lower hall at first light. When the Elder looks at the land-walkers and decides whether we are worth the stone we stand on."

Kane’s mouth curved, tired and pleased.

"Then you will walk with evidence."

She glanced down at herself, at the marks his hands had left on her hips, at the wetness, at the way her nipples were still tight in the cool air, and then back up at him.

The solemn logistics officer and the woman who had asked to be taken apart occupied the same face without conflict.

"If Kessa smells this in the morning," she said, "she is going to be insufferable."