"Stop saying—"
"I know."
He leaned.
Her leg, hooked in his arm, her thigh angled up toward her own chest, her knee finding the outside of her breast, the specific, cramped, exposed geometry of the position — her body folded into the frog position, opened fully, nowhere to go.
"Let's start," he said.
The word carried.
From the tree line, she heard Aisha make a small, involuntary sound.
He pulled out.
Slow.
To the tip.
Then drove back in.
Full.
One stroke. The specific, immediate, full-length penetration of a cock that had just been resting against a cervix and had pulled to the entrance and returned — the distance of it, the length of it inside her, the specific, total sensation of being filled from entrance to the deepest interior.
"AHHH—"
Not quiet.
The sound came out full. Open. The specific, unmanaged sound of a body that had received something large and was reporting on it without any filter.
He did it again.
PAH.
"HNGH~♡—"
