"Please—please—I can't anymore—"
"You can," Ross murmured, softer this time. "You're so fucking beautiful when you let go."
He pulled out only long enough to flip Jenny onto her back again, hook her legs over his shoulders—deepest angle yet—and fucked her through the overstimulation until her voice went hoarse and her thighs quaked uncontrollably.
She came so hard she squirted, soaking his stomach, the sheets, his thighs.
He groaned at the sight, the feel, the sound of her broken, gasping sobs.
Finally—mercifully—he let himself chase it too.
He buried himself to the root one last time, hips stuttering, and spilled inside her with a low, guttural sound that rattled his chest.
They collapsed in a sweaty, trembling heap.
The room smelled of sex and salt and them. The sheets were ruined.
The book had fallen to the floor sometime during the wall phase.
Dawn was bleeding pale gold through the half-open blinds.
