Chapter 109: | Fucking After Milk I R18+

Sable caught him looking. Didn’t look away.

“Something on my face?”

“No.”

“Then stop staring and come here.”

Damian stood. The chair scraped the floorboards behind him and neither of them flinched. She was already shirtless. Had been for the last ten minutes, sitting on the edge of his bed with her legs pressed together while they talked, as if the conversation had been the point. Her breasts caught the stuttering light, heavy and full, the nipples dark and drawn tight. The lamp flickered. Her skin flickered with it.

He crossed the room. His hand found her waist and she let him guide her, no resistance, a slow backward lean until her spine met the mattress. They sat together on the edge, her thigh flush against his, legs locked tight at the knee.

She looked at him. He looked back.

“Just so you know,” she said, voice low, “last time you were a novice.”

“This isn’t last time.”

A smile pulled at one corner of her mouth. “Prove it.”

His hands settled on her locked knees. For a second nothing happened — she just breathed, watching him, and he watched her watch him. Then her legs began to open. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of movement that made a man aware of every inch of the space he was about to be let into.

His palm slid up the inside of her thigh. Cotton. Warmth. And under the cotton, a heat so immediate his breath caught.

“Soaked,” he said.

“You can blame me.”

She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his neck. Open-mouthed, wet, dragging along the tendon. His fingers hooked the edge of her panties and pushed them aside. No preamble. Two fingers slid into her and her whole body flinched toward the contact.

He thrust. Slow at first, feeling her stretch around him, then faster. The sound was obscene — slick, rhythmic, loud in the small room.

Sable’s legs fell fully open. Her arm locked around his neck, mouth still working at his throat, her breath coming in short bursts against his skin.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Fuck, if you keep thrusting like that I’ll…”

He tilted his head to find her eyes. They were glassy, unfocused, pupils blown wide in the dim.

He kissed her. First time — mouth on mouth, no buildup, just the sudden collision of it. She jolted at the waist like he’d touched a live wire and moaned straight into his mouth.

“Fuckk…”

Then he felt it. A rush of wet against his fingers, warmer than before, spilling past his knuckles and soaking the fabric he’d shoved aside. It ran down the seam of her panties and reached the skirt bunched at her hips.

“Have to get this off,” she said.

She sat up, hooked both thumbs into the waistband, and dragged panties and skirt down her legs in one motion. Kicked them off the end of the bed. Butt naked now, thighs slick, chest heaving, and she didn’t cover anything.

“Don’t just look at me,” she said. “Get yours off too.”

He got his shirt over his head in one pull. Trousers and boxers came off together, and when his cock sprang free it slapped against his stomach, hard enough to sting.

Sable’s eyes dropped. Stayed there.

“Already this hard,” she murmured.

Her hand closed around him. Soft palm, firm grip, and she started to stroke. Long pulls from base to tip, thumb dragging over the head each time. Damian’s jaw locked. A groan worked its way out of his chest and he didn’t bother hiding it.

“Fuck…” He bent his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth. Sucked hard. His other hand found her ass and squeezed, fingers sinking into the soft give of it, pulling her closer.

She stroked faster. He sucked harder.

The room shrank to three points of contact — her hand, his mouth, his palm full of her.

“Fuck,” he gasped against her breast. “I’m…”

“Cum,” she said. Not a question.

“Ahh…”

It hit fast. He came across her knuckles and her wrist, pulse after pulse, and she kept stroking him through it until his hips stuttered and he had to grab her forearm to make her stop.

Breathing hard. Sweat cooling on his back. The lamp flickered one more time.

Sable lifted her hand and looked at the mess on her fingers. Then she looked at him, and that smile came back.

“You’re becoming experienced at this.”

He laughed, still catching his breath. “I learned from a good teacher. That’s all.”

“Mm.” She wiped her hand on the sheet, unconcerned, and leaned back on her elbows. Legs still open. Still wet. “Then show me what else you learned.”

Her heel hooked around the back of his thigh and pulled.

He let himself be pulled, knees finding the mattress on either side of her hips. The heat of her hit him before he touched her—a damp, open invitation. She reached down between them, guided him, and the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.

Her breath hitched. So did his.

“Look at me,” she said.

He did. Her eyes were dark, fierce, unblinking. He pushed inside her in one slow, steady motion, and her mouth fell open on a silent exhale. Tight. Hot. So fucking wet she took him to the hilt without resistance, and when he bottomed out she arched her back and let out a sound he’d never heard from her before—raw, unguarded, almost pained.

“Keep going,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

He pulled back and thrust again. Her hips rose to meet him. The bed creaked beneath them, rhythm building, her legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him deeper. She clawed at his back, nails biting into muscle, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck and fucked her harder.

The lamp flickered. Neither of them noticed.

The bed had started to complain in the same rhythm as her breathing — short, sharp, rhythmic. Damian’s knees had dug grooves into the mattress and his hands had found her hips, thumbs pressing the soft hollows above her ass. Sable’s legs were still wrapped around him but loosening now, one heel slipping down the back of his thigh until her foot hit the sheets. She was soaked, had been soaked before he pushed inside her and every thrust made a sound like something tearing, quiet and wet and obscene.