The words hit Soha somewhere between her chest and her face and the result was a surge of fury hot enough to briefly override everything else — she pulled back from the kiss, or tried to, her hands pushing at his chest.
"You—" Her voice came out completely wrecked, breathless and wet and furious. "You idiot — you — stop—"
He leaned over her.
His mouth found hers again and the protest died in way protests died when his tongue was involved — not gradually, immediately, the sentence dissolving at the point of contact.
"Mmph—! Mngh—"
His cock pressed against her thigh.
She felt it — the full weight of it, the heat, the hardness, the thick shaft rubbing against the inside of her thigh through where the blanket had parted, his hips shifting to press it closer, the motion dragging the length of him against her skin.
His hand moved.
The one on her breast stayed — kneading, the nipple working under his thumb, her whole breast bouncing slightly with each squeeze. The other hand traveled downward.
Over the side of her belly.
Down her hip.
Between her thighs.
His palm pressed against her pussy — the full flat contact of it, the warmth of his hand against the freshly bare skin there, the puffy lips pressing against his palm as she felt the contact everywhere.
She broke the kiss.
"Wait—"
He kissed her again.
"Wait — wait—"
His fingers moved between the lips.
Finding the slick — and she was slick, embarrassingly, comprehensively slick, the evidence of the last hour’s accumulated damage all present and undeniable against his fingers — his middle finger pressing along the cleft and finding the entrance below.
He pressed in.
Just past the surface. Just enough to feel the tight, resisting warmth of the untouched opening, the hymen present and real under his fingertip, the pressure of the approach making her —
"WAIT—"
The word came out fully this time. Cracked and loud and with both hands pushing hard at his chest.
"Wait — wait — I—"
"Shhhh."
He didn’t push through.
His finger stayed exactly where it was — at the entrance, above the barrier, pressing just enough to feel it without crossing it. And began to move.
Slow circles. His fingertip working at the opening from outside, pressing and releasing, the pad of his finger rubbing against the tight wet ring of her entrance with a patient, rhythmic motion that her body responded to regardless of what her brain was doing.
"Hhnn — ngh — I said — hhngh—"
"I know what you said."
His voice was low. Against her hair.
She could feel his breath on her temple while his finger moved — the intimate proximity of it, his mouth at her ear and his finger between her legs and his other hand full of her breast and his cock pressed hot against her thigh.
"Hhhah — hnn — haah—"
Her breathing had become its own separate conversation — every exhale slightly different from the last, each breath shaped by whatever his finger was doing at that exact moment, the short "hah" when his fingertip pressed deeper, the longer "hnngh" when the circle dragged across a specific point, the bitten "nnh" when his thumb found her clit from above and pressed it simultaneously.
Her eyes rolled.
Fully. helpless roll of a nervous system that has received simultaneous stimuli from too many points and is briefly losing the processing queue — his tongue in her mouth, his thumb on her nipple, his finger at her entrance, his cock on her thigh, his breath on her temple.
The pregnancy belly rubbed against his abs with each of her movements — every involuntary hip shift, every arching twitch, the tight skin of it dragging warm circles against his stomach, the baby inside shifting once in its suspension as if adjusting to the new rhythm.
"She’s going to—" the succubus said, from the chair.
Her voice was warm and informed, the voice of a being who has watched enough human bodies to read them like weather.
He kissed Soha harder.
His finger pressed in — still above the hymen, but deeper than before, the tight walls of her entrance gripping his fingertip with , desperate clutch of something that has never been touched and does not know what to do with the information that it is being touched now.
His thumb found her clit again.
Both simultaneously. Entrance and clit. Press and circle. His tongue in her mouth. His palm full of her breast.
She came apart.
"AAANGH — HHAAH — AAHIIEENGH~!!"
The orgasm hit her the way the first one in the bathtub had threatened to hit her — sudden, violent, total — her whole body seizing with it, her spine snapping into a full arch, her pregnant belly pressing forward and then her hips slamming down, her thighs clamping on his hand, her hands gripping his chest so hard her nails left marks through the blanket.
The cry was loud.
Not muffled. Not bitten. Fully open, bouncing off the wooden walls and the frosted window and the warm ceiling of the apartment, her voice cracking somewhere in the middle of it into something raw and completely unguarded.
Her legs flinched.
Violently. Both thighs shaking against his hand, the trembling of a body that has just discharged four months of accumulated tension in approximately ninety seconds, her inner walls fluttering around his fingertip in rapid rhythmic clenches.
"Hh — hh — hhhnn—"
She was still shaking.
Her eyes were half-closed and wet and her chest was heaving with the effort of breathing and her pregnant belly was trembling with the aftershocks, the dome of it rising and falling in unsteady rhythm of a woman whose entire lower body is still processing.
The succubus tilted her head.
Uncrossed her legs.
Her enormous thighs pressing together in the armchair as she shifted weight, her golden wings adjusting slightly behind her, her expression carrying the warm, knowledgeable look of a being whose ambient senses were receiving exactly what had been agreed upon.
The blanket fell.
Not dramatically — just slipped, the way blankets slip when the body holding them has stopped paying attention to the holding, the wool sliding off both of them and landing on the floor in a soft heap.
His body caught the lamplight.
The abs. The chest. The broad shoulders and the muscle along his arms and the V of his hips and between his legs — the nine inches of him, fully, completely, obscenely erect, the shaft dark-veined and thick, the crimson head swollen and flushed, the slit glistening with the pre-cum that had been building for the entire last hour and had been very patient about it.
The succubus’s eyes moved downward.
Stayed there.
Her wings shifted.
She said nothing, which was louder than anything she could have said.
Soha was against him — her small wet body pressed to his chest, her pregnant belly between them, her legs spread from where his hand still rested between her thighs, her freshly shaved pussy visible in the lamplight, the bare lips flushed and slick and puffy from the orgasm.
He stepped back.
Slightly. Enough.
He held his cock with one hand — the grip around the thick shaft, his fingers not closing fully around the girth — and moved it toward her.
She was still shaking.
Her thighs still trembling. Her eyes still wet. The aftershocks still running through her belly in visible waves.
He pressed the cockhead against her pussy lips.
Not in — against. The swollen crimson tip pressing into the wet slick folds from outside, parting the puffy labia with the width of his head, the pre-cum at the tip immediately mixing with the slick she’d left on his fingers.
He dragged it.
Upward, slow — the fat head dragging through the wet folds from entrance to clit, the pressure of it spreading the slick across his cockhead as he moved, the contact sending her hips jolting forward with the friction.
She made a sound.
Broken. Short.
"Hnn—"
He looked down at her.
Her eyes were looking up at him — wet and wide and carrying expression of a woman who is trying to maintain a position and has run entirely out of material to build it from, the dark irises shining in the lamplight with the tears that hadn’t fully dried.
He dragged the cockhead back down.
Through the folds again. Slow. The head glistening now with her — thoroughly, completely coated in the slick she’d produced through the orgasm, his cockhead dark and wet and visibly warm in the apartment light.
He looked at it.
Then at her face.
"Thank you," he said, "for making my cock wet."