Lucifer murmured some noncommittal noises in return but continued pulverizing her pussy at a predetermined pace.
Her vagina didn't give a flying fairy what pace he set; it went off like a rocket as soon as he gave her nub a rub.
She arched and shouted as the pleasure tore through her.
It hit her hard, the contractions possessing her entire pelvis. She fractured and regrouped with each blissful bloom.
He went on fucking her as if nothing had happened.
Only a small wicked smile told of his triumph. He knew there was more in store.
It wasn't until he began to sweat that he gave her the pounding she'd been pleading for.
His grunting grew in volume, warming her ear with each exhalation, and she clawed at his arms in response, scratching him to commemorate the occasion.
The jagged, red marks would be left to heal so he could revel in her passion for him over the coming weeks.
His hips snapped against her hard and fast.
Their speed and ferocity intensified with each of her desperate whimpers.
She hissed his name.
Her pussy was going mad. Just watching the tense concentration play over his face had her creaming his cock.
The stark ballet of his muscles dancing beneath his skin made her ravenous for his flavor.
She could tell by his fierce focus that he wouldn't be coming in her mouth.
But she could lick his body once they'd finished; he'd taste of love and fucking, a combination that always left her drooling.
He dropped his head and closed his eyes, planting his hands on the arm of the sofa for leverage.
Hermione moaned as the pleasure coursing through her body swelled to a pinnacle of sensation.
The sloppy wet sound of her sex squelching around his length might have been mistaken for raging rapids by any unsuspecting eavesdropper.
Lucifer cracked open his eyes to smirk at her.
She would have laughed if she'd been capable of anything other than mindless moaning.
She could see the sarcastic jibes already forming in his head.
The next day would be littered with comments about rising sea levels and the smell of dampness pervading the pub downstairs.
She'd just pat his crotch and tell him to plug the dam if he was so worried about water damage.
Hermione lightly scratched her nails down his chest then caught his brown nipple between her fingers just as he'd done to her earlier.
His body quaked with arousal, and he fucked her even harder.
The clawed feet of the sofa scraped across the floor, unable to withstand the pummeling.
Lucifer re-braced his foot on the floor and continued the pelvic assault.
The sofa protested, dully traveling a half inch with each thrust.
Hermione grabbed hold of the sofa back with one hand and his shoulder with the other.
It was safest to reinforce her position in the midst of a seismic event of such magnitude.
The fucking brigade was out in full force, hard at work.
A sheen of effort misted his forehead, and it sparkled in the firelight.
Hermione stared into his black eyes, hypnotized by the shimmery glint reflected in their depths.
The sofa knocked into the end table, which rattled loudly in wooden shock.
Obviously offended by the continued onslaught, it tiptoed away and crouched behind the armchair, where Hermione would find it in the morning and have to coax it back into place with a bribe of furniture polish.
Lucifer, caring little for the prudishness of his furniture, went on banging the hell out of her without so much as flinching.
Hermione's face pinched in pained pleasure.
After years of conditioning, her pussy responded to his every tic and twitch with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Just one look from him left her knickers dripping.
Her entire body associated Lucifer with sex.
Brain, eyes, tongue, lips, teeth, neck, voice, chest, heart, arms, hands, belly, cock, bollocks, arse, thighs, calves, and feet—every inch of him was synonymous with orgasm.
Even the smell of him got her in the mood.
Maybe that was why he continued to barricade himself in buttons—so they could get some work done.
But his plan had gone awry.
She had simply added his clothing to her list of arousal triggers.
If he wasn't so adept at bring her to climax after climax, maybe her body wouldn't go into heat every time she thought of him.
Her insatiable sex drive was his own fault.
He always took the blame with aplomb and a smile.
Screaming his name one last time, Hermione came, her back arching, and her nails sinking into the sofa's slick upholstery.
One long growl melted from his lips as her muscles clenched around him.
His hips became erratic. Her name punctuated the end of his come-grunt like an emphatic exclamation mark.
She loved the transcendence that flooded his face with every orgasm.
She would replay his climax over and over during his absence the next day, which would, in turn, leave her desperate for another go.
The circle of sex.
Lucifer stared at her, panting in exhaustion.
Hermione lifted her arms and pulled him down.
He slumped in her embrace and buried his face in her hair.
His heart thumped wildly against her breast.
He'd be ready to sleep soon. He might not even make it through her tongue bath.
That was okay.
They'd take a shower together in the morning before breakfast.
And then she'd go clit fishing while she watched him get dressed.
Buttons going on were almost as good as buttons coming off.
She might even have to help him with his sleeves.
And his fly.
No way was he going to be able to get the barn door closed on that beast singlehandedly.
Not after she was through with him.
Hermione kissed his neck and smiled.
Maybe she'd have to go down too and have a conference with him in the Therapy Office.
Replay some highlights.
Yes, definitely.
Screw her tea break.
Button breaks were what kept her humming.
xxxxxx
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