Chapter 98: Mom

She got the one more.

It hit her mid-bounce, sharper than the last, and she folded forward onto my chest, still moving, pussy clenching in wet pulls while she rode it out. I held her hips and kept her on me. She sobbed a laugh against my throat.

"Now," she said. "Come. Flood me. I want it while I’m still shaking."

I let go. Pulled her down and came hard, pulsing deep, the mess from before making it spill out around the base even as I filled her. Evelyn moaned through every shot, grinding to take it, then collapsed fully onto me, breathing wrecked, still joined.

"God," she whispered. "Okay. Mouth. I promised. Give me a second. Don’t slip out yet. I want to climb off and taste it."

She kissed my chest, my jaw, then eased up. I slipped free with a wet sound and a rush down her thigh. She looked at it, grinned, and slid down the bed. No ceremony. She took me in her mouth, soft and oversensitive, and licked us off me, slow, thorough, humming when I twitched.

"Sensitive," she said around the head. "I’ll be sweet. You already gave me three. This is cleanup and greed. Both."

She sucked gently until I was clean and half hard again from her mouth alone, then pulled off and kissed the tip.

"Enough," she said. "If I keep going you’ll come again and I actually want to sleep sometime. Come up here."

I pulled her up. She fitted against my side, leg over mine, head on my shoulder. The sheet was a loss. Neither of us reached for it. Her hand rested on my stomach, sticky, unbothered.

"Morning might be shy," she said. "I warned you. If I get weird, remind me I asked for all of this. Don’t let me rebuild the fences before coffee. One sentence. That’s all you need."

"What sentence?"

"You wanted this. Say that. I’ll remember."

"Okay."

She pinched me lightly. "Not student okay."

"I’ll say it."

"Good." She yawned, filthy and soft. "Water in a bit. Or not. If I wake up leaking I’m not apologizing. You’re staying. Couch is retired. If you get hard against me in the night, you can wake me. I’ll probably say yes. I’m disgusting. I already admitted it."

I held her. She was asleep faster than I expected, mouth parted, hand still on my stomach. The house stayed empty. I didn’t move her.

She woke once, hours later, dark still down. Felt the leak. Felt me. Kissed my shoulder.

"You wanted this," she mumbled, practicing the sentence, and went back under.

Morning came gray. She stirred, felt the mess, felt me hard against her hip, and didn’t flinch. She looked at me, shy at the edges, then said it herself before I could.

"I wanted this." A breath. "Okay. Shy lasted four seconds. Come here. Slow. Before coffee. I’m not building anything."

She pulled me over her, guided me in, still wet from the night, and sighed like relief.

"Morning," she said. "Don’t be gentle just because it’s light. I can take you. Then breakfast. Then whatever we want. No list."

I started to move, and she smiled, awake, already rolling up to meet me.

I didn’t stay gentle.

Morning light made everything clearer and filthier. Evelyn under me, hair a mess, thighs sticky from the night, pussy still slick enough that the first full stroke went in easy and loud. She gasped, grabbed my arms, and rolled her hips up to meet the second.

"Yes," she said. "Like that. I meant it. Don’t perform soft just because the sun’s up."

I fucked her in long, deep drives. The wet sound filled the quiet room. She kept her eyes open, watching my face, then watching where we joined, shameless about it. Her breasts moved with each thrust. I bent and sucked one, and she arched, hand in my hair, not directing, just holding.

"Harder," she said. "I want to feel last night and this morning at the same time."

I gave her harder. The headboard tapped the wall. She didn’t care. Her legs locked around my waist and she pulled me in, greedy, the way she had finally allowed herself to be. I rubbed her clit with my thumb. She swore, bit her lip, then stopped biting it.

"Don’t stop the hand. I’m close already. Morning makes me easy. Use that."

I used it. Rubbed her while I thrust, steady pressure, and she came with a broken sound, pussy clenching, a fresh rush of wet around my cock. I fucked her through it. She shook and nodded and didn’t tell me to wait.

"Inside," she gasped. "Fill me again. I want to stand up after and feel it. Then you’re making coffee while I leak. That’s the morning. No apology."

I drove in and came, pulsing deep, groaning against her throat. She held me there with her legs, taking every shot, smiling when she felt the fill. A trickle escaped when I softened. She reached down, touched it, and brought the finger to my mouth. I sucked it clean. She watched, pleased.

"Good," she said. "Now out. Slow. I want to see it."

I pulled out slow. She stayed open a second, then a thick leak followed, running down to the sheet. She looked at it, laughed once, and sat up, unbothered by the shine on her thighs.

"Coffee," she said. "I’ll wipe enough to walk. You start the kettle. If you get hard in the kitchen I’m not responsible. I might bend over the counter. I’m warning you so it’s not a surprise. Shy is gone. It left with the first thrust."

I went to the kitchen naked. She followed in my shirt, unbuttoned, nothing under. The kettle went on. She hopped onto the counter, shirt falling open, and crooked a finger.

"Before it boils," she said. "Mouth. Quick. I want to come once more on your tongue and then drink coffee like a person. Can you do quick?"

"Yes."

"Then do it."

I stepped between her legs and put my mouth on her. She was swollen, messy, sensitive. I licked her clean and then focused, tongue on her clit, two fingers in. She grabbed my hair and rocked, not shy, moaning at the ceiling. It didn’t take long. She came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping my head, pulsing on my fingers, then pushed me back gently, laughing.

"Enough. God. You’re good at that. Kettle."

I poured the coffee. She stayed on the counter, shirt open, sipping, legs still apart, a slow leak I could see. She caught me looking and didn’t close them.

"After this," she said, "shower. Together. You can fuck me against the tile if you want. Or just wash me. I’ll say yes to either. Then food. Then we see if the house is still empty and we do it again on the couch, because the couch has been too polite. Sound like a morning?"

"Yes."

She drank, smiled over the rim, and set the cup down. The kettle had already clicked off. She slid off the counter, took my hand, and led me toward the bathroom, shirt slipping off one shoulder.

"Tile first," she said. "I want the water on my back while you’re in me. Don’t be sweet in there either. Sweet is for after. In there I want you mean."

She turned the tap. Steam started. She looked back, naked under the open shirt, and waited for me to follow her in.

I followed her in.

The water was already hot. Evelyn dropped the shirt in the corner of the tub and stepped under the spray, back to me, hands on the tile. She looked over her shoulder, wet hair plastered, mouth curved.

"Mean," she said. "I told you. Hands on my hips. In. Don’t warm me up. I’m warm."

I took her hips and pushed in. She was slick from the morning and the leak and the orgasm on the counter, and she took me to the root with a sharp gasp that turned into a moan. Water ran down her spine. I fucked her there, deep, the wet slap louder under the spray. She pushed back to meet it.

"Yes. Like that. God, the tile’s cold and you’re not. Don’t stop."

I didn’t stop. One hand left her hip and reached around, rubbing her clit. She jerked, laughed, and ground onto my fingers and my cock at once.

"Cheating," she said. "Keep cheating. I want to come standing up. If my knees go, hold me."

I held her. Fucked her harder. The steam hid the mirror and showed everything else: the arch of her back, the way she took me, the water beading on her ass. She came with a cry that bounced off the tile, pussy gripping, legs shaking. I kept her up and kept moving until she tapped my wrist.

"Your turn. Inside. I want it running down my leg with the water. Filthy. Do it." ℴ

I drove in and came, pulsing, groaning against her shoulder. She reached back and held me deep while I finished, then eased forward so I slipped out. A mix of us ran down her thigh, thinning in the spray. She watched it go and smiled.

"Worth the water bill," she said. "Wash me. Then I’ll wash you. Then we see about the couch. I’m not pretending we’re done because we rinsed."

I soaped her shoulders, her back, her breasts, between her legs, gentle where she was swollen. She sighed and leaned into it, then turned and did the same for me, hand lingering on my cock until I twitched.

"Later," she said, kissing me under the water. "Food first or I’ll get lightheaded and blame you. Out."

We dried enough. She stole my shirt again, open. I put on shorts. In the kitchen she ate toast standing up, crumbs on her chest, unbothered. I watched. She let me.

"Couch," she said when the plate was empty. "I want to ride you there. The polite couch. We’re fixing it. Come on."

She led me to the front room, pushed me down, and climbed on, shirt falling off her shoulders. No preamble. She sank onto me, both of us groaning, and started to roll her hips, slow, eyes on mine.

"See?" she said. "No list. No click. Just this. Hold my waist. Let me use you. If I want it harder I’ll say. If you want my mouth after, say it like a person. I’ll say yes."

She rode me in the daylight of the front room, wet and free, the house still only us, and she didn’t look toward the hall once.