The full, structural collapse of them — both simultaneously, the elbows folding, her upper body dropping. Her face hit Vikram's chest. The weight of her upper body collapsing onto her husband's chest, her face pressing into his hospital gown, her belly pressing against his side.
She lay on him.
On her husband.
Her upper body draped across her unconscious husband's chest, her face in his gown, her tears running into the fabric.
And behind her, above her, Raven fucked her through it.
'PAH. PAH. PAH. PAH.'
"'Ngh—!! Nngh—!! MMNH~!!♡♡'"
The sounds she made into Vikram's chest.
The muffled, gown-absorbed sounds of a woman who was being used and was laying on her husband and could not get up and her tears were running into his gown and her milk was still going and none of it was stopping.
The last thrust.
The final, deepest, held-still quality of it — the fully-seated, completely-buried stillness of someone arriving at the end of something.
She felt the warmth.
