The slick heat of Jane's cunt clamped around me the instant the last of her held-back flood began to ease.
Walls twitching in little aftershocks that milked every inch still buried deep.
Her knees had locked then buckled, so I kept her upright with one arm locked under her ribs while the other stayed low, palm cupping the soft swell of her lower belly where I could feel the faint pulse of her still-emptying bladder and the thicker pulse of her orgasm both at once.
The toilet lid was cold against her bare thighs.
The tile under my feet had already gone treacherous.
Every small shift of weight sent another thin rivulet of her juices sliding toward the drain.
Jane's breath came in short, wet hitches.
Her red hair stuck to her forehead.
She turned her face just enough that I could see the corner of her mouth, the way her lower lip kept catching on her teeth each time another weak contraction rolled through her.
