Chapter 41| Lesson Two R18+

Chapter 41: Chapter 41| Lesson Two R18+

The water had cooled a degree by the time Damian moved.

Not much. Just enough that the steam thinned and the mirror began clearing in patches. He crossed the tile on unsteady legs, his reflection trailing him in fragments of fogged glass. A shoulder here, a hip there, nothing whole enough to recognize.

Sable watched him approach. Her arms rested on either side of the tub, her big breasts floating just beneath the surface, nipples brushing the waterline with each small adjustment. She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

He stopped at the rim.

The bath stretched between his feet and her body, maybe two feet of water and a thousand miles of hesitation. His cock hung soft against his thigh again, and he hated that she’d see it. Which he knew was now a bad thing, but she was already looking. Not at it, at his face, and something in her gaze told him she’d already filed away everything he was embarrassed about and moved on.

"Get in," she said. Not a command. An invitation dressed like one.

He lifted his leg over the edge.

The water wrapped around his shin like a warm hand, then his thigh, then his hip as he lowered himself in. Porcelain against his back. Water climbing his chest. The heat hit him all at once, not the sharp shock of a shower but a slow, soaking warmth that pulled the tension out of muscles he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Sable shifted. Water sloshed against his ribs, covered his shoulders. She moved toward him like she was rearranging herself around his presence, and then her legs were on either side of his hips and she was settling into his lap with a weight that felt deliberate.

There.

Her knees pressed against the porcelain on either side of him. Her thighs bracketed his. The water level dropped as she rose, then rose again as she sank, and the first brush of her cunt against his half-hard cock made him grab the edges of the tub.

"Easy," she murmured.

Her hands found his shoulders. Palms flat, fingers curling into the muscle there, and she rocked forward once. Just once, a slow roll of her hips that dragged her wet heat along the length of him.

He was hard before she finished the motion.

It surprised him. The speed of it, the way his body answered without asking permission. One second he was soft and floating, the next his cock was pressed against her stomach as she leaned into him, and the water between them did nothing to hide what was happening.

"Good," she said.

She lifted her hips.

The water rushed to fill the space between them, and then she was guiding him. Her hand slipped down between their bodies, found him, angled him, and the head of his cock nudged against something impossibly warm.

Sable sank.

Slow. Deliberate. An inch of him disappearing into her, then another, the water parting around her thighs as she took him deeper. Her eyes stayed on his. Her breath stayed even. And Damian felt his brain go quiet in a way it never did, no calculations, no second-guessing, just the sensation of being slowly, completely swallowed.

She seated herself against him.

Full. Hilted. Her thighs pressed tight to his hips, her cunt clenching around him in a reflex that made his toes curl against the porcelain. She didn’t move. Just sat there, letting him feel the weight of her, the fullness of her, the way she’d taken all of him inside her body.

"Breathe," she said.

He hadn’t been.

Air rushed into his lungs like he’d forgotten how. The bathroom tilted. The steam curled. His hands found her waist under the water, not gripping, just touching, thumbs tracing the curve of her hipbones like he was learning a map by feel.

She rolled her hips.

A slow circle, water sloshing against his chest, her breasts brushing his torso with each pass. The motion pulled him deeper somehow, even though he was already buried, and the sound she made was a low, throaty hum vibrating through her skin into his palms.

Then she rode him.

Not fast. Not desperate. Controlled, measured, each lift of her hips a question and each descent an answer. Water spilled over the edge of the tub in lazy waves, pooling on the tile, and Damian didn’t care. Couldn’t care. His entire universe had narrowed to the space where their bodies met, to the rhythm she set and the way her inner walls gripped him on the way up and welcomed him on the way down.

Her fingers combed through his wet hair.

"You’re doing well," she said, her voice low enough to be a secret. "Look at you. Taking me so deep."

A sound escaped him. A half groan, half word he’d lost somewhere between his throat and his tongue.

She smiled. Not a kind smile. A satisfied one.

Her pace changed. Shorter strokes, quicker, the water splashing harder against the walls of the tub. Her hands braced on his shoulders and she fucked him in earnest, her cunt slapping against his pelvis with each thrust, her breath coming faster, her composure cracking at the edges.

Damian watched her come apart.

Her eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth fell open. Her hips stuttered once, twice, and then she pressed down hard and held, her whole body tightening around him in a wave that started at her core and rippled outward.

He felt it.

Felt her come on his cock, the pulse of it, the way her inner walls clenched and released and clenched again. She gasped — a short, sharp sound and then went still, her forehead dropping to his shoulder.

The water settled around them.

The steam curled.

Sable’s breath warmed his skin as she exhaled, long and slow, and Damian kept his hands on her waist because he didn’t know what else to do with them.

"Lesson two," she said against his collarbone, "is about endurance."

He swallowed. "Endurance?."

She lifted her head. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her hair slick with condensation, and a single bead of water traced the curve of her jaw before falling into the bath.

"You don’t get to come yet."