Chapter 140: Chapter 140 - On the Floor (R)
Iyisha’s legs fell open wider without conscious thought, thighs trembling as they parted for him. The damp cotton between her legs clung heavily to her, but it was nothing compared to the weight of Malcolm’s palm as he cupped her fully through her soaked panties.
His fingers pressed the fabric tight against her swollen folds, molding it to every curve, every slick crease.
She arched off the tile, spine bowing, a sharp hitch catching in her throat.
He didn’t move his hand away.
He simply held her there, possessive and unyielding, letting her feel the steady throb of her own pulse against his skin.
Then he lowered his face.
Close enough that his breath brushed over her inner thighs. Close enough that she could see his gaze travel—lingering on the darkened fabric at her center, moving slowly up the quivering plane of her stomach, over the flushed peaks of her breasts, and finally locking with her wide, glassy eyes.
"Hmm," he murmured, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "You’ve been seducing me all night."
Iyisha blinked, dazed.
They had just come from the sermon. Sitting side by side. Her hand resting innocently on his thigh during the closing prayer.
Had she...?
She opened her mouth to protest, to insist she hadn’t meant to, hadn’t even thought—
Malcolm didn’t give her the chance.
His mouth crashed down on hers, hard and claiming, swallowing the question before it could form.
At the same time his hips rolled forward, dragging the thick, rigid length of his cock along the soaked seam of her panties.
The friction was immediate. Devastating.
She felt every vein, every ridge, the blunt head catching briefly against her clit before sliding higher, then lower again.
Her hips jerked upward instinctively, chasing more.
His hands clamped down on her waist. Firm. Unyielding.
"Easy," he muttered against her lips. One word. Low. Dangerous.
She groaned anyway, the sound raw.
The tile beneath her pressed into her back, but she barely registered it. All she felt was him. His weight. His control. The slick glide of her own arousal making everything move too smoothly, too perfectly.
"Malcolm..." His name came out like a plea.
His right hand left her hip.
She heard the faint sound of skin against skin as he gripped himself—stroking once, twice—spreading the bead of precum that had gathered at the tip.
Then he brought himself back to her.
Iyisha opened her legs wider, knees falling apart without shame, hips lifting in silent offering.
He rewarded her by notching the swollen head of his cock at her entrance, pressing just enough to stretch the drenched cotton inward.
The fabric pulled taut, outlining her slit, dipping slightly inside her under the blunt pressure.
She whimpered, hips twitching, trying to wriggle the panties aside so he could sink in.
His left hand slammed down on her hip again, harder this time, pinning her flat.
"Don’t. Move."
The command was soft but absolute.
His eyes remained fixed on the dark, soaked patch between her thighs, watching how the cotton clung to her swollen lips, how every tiny shift forced more slick to seep through.
He dragged himself up slowly, letting the underside of his shaft glide over her covered clit.
Then down again, pressing the head harder at her entrance.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Each pass slicker than the last, his precum mixing with her wetness until the glide turned obscene and torturous.
Iyisha cried out, nails digging into his forearms.
Her whole body shook now. Thighs quivering. Belly tight. Clit throbbing under the relentless friction.
It felt like he was edging her with his cock alone, using her own drenched panties as a cruel restraint.
"Please," she gasped. "Malcolm—please—"
He didn’t answer.
Instead he hooked two fingers into the crotch of her panties and yanked the fabric sharply to the side.
She was bare.
Exposed. Dripping.
His slick head slid through her folds without barrier this time, coating himself fully in her arousal.
She moaned his name over and over, broken and breathless, as he kissed her again—deep, filthy—his tongue stroking hers in the same slow rhythm he used against her entrance.
He pushed in.
One slow inch.
Then stopped.
Her walls fluttered desperately around just the head, trying to pull him deeper.
He held perfectly still, letting her feel every thick vein, every pulse, every drop of precum he leaked inside her.
She was so wet she could hear it—the soft sound when he flexed his hips just slightly.
He pulled back almost out.
Then pressed forward again.
Another slow inch.
Her inner muscles clenched hard and greedy.
He could have slid deeper easily.
He chose not to.
Not yet.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. Her jaw. The frantic pulse at her throat.
"You’re dripping," he whispered, voice rough. "So fucking wet for me."
Another shallow thrust.
Another inch taken.
Her back arched off the tile, breasts pressing against his chest.
She trembled so hard her teeth knocked together.
He dragged out slowly, letting her feel the pull of every ridge.
Then pushed back in deeper.
Halfway now.
She sobbed his name, hips straining against his grip.
"Please—Malcolm—please fuck me—need you—all of you—please—"
He groaned low and guttural.
And finally gave her what she wanted.
One long, relentless slide.
All the way in.
Her cry echoed off the tiles as he bottomed out, hips flush to hers, buried completely inside her slick, fluttering heat.
He stayed there, unmoving, letting her feel how deep he was. How thick. How completely he filled her.
Then he kissed her again.
Slower now.
And began to move.
Every withdrawal dragging against her sensitive walls.
Every thrust pushing fresh wetness out around him.
Iyisha clung to him—nails digging into his back, legs locked tight around his waist—and let him take her apart, piece by devastating piece.
Iyisha’s world narrowed to the slow, merciless drag of him inside her.
Malcolm did not give her a real thrust. He stayed buried deep, thick and pulsing, stretching her so wide she could feel every vein against her fluttering walls. Instead of driving into her, he rocked in controlled, shallow movements. Barely an inch out. Barely an inch back in. Just enough to keep her suspended on the edge.
Each measured roll forced more of her slickness out around him. The sound filled the room, wet and intimate, every subtle flex of his hips echoing against the walls. Her thighs were coated, the tile beneath her damp against her back. His weight held her in place while his restraint drove her mad.
She clenched around him, hard and greedy.
A low groan left his throat, the vibration traveling through his body straight into her core. He felt it. He absorbed it. And still he refused to give her more.
"Malcolm..." Her voice cracked, thin with need. "Please move. Fuck me properly."
He lifted his head just enough to look down at her. His eyes were dark, focused. His jaw tightened so hard a muscle flickered along his cheek. Sweat traced down the side of his neck. He looked like a man balancing on the edge of losing control and choosing not to.
"Not yet," he rasped, voice rough and final.
Then he rolled his hips in a slow circle, grinding deep while staying fully seated inside her. The pressure dragged perfectly across her most sensitive spot. She sobbed at the sensation, hips jerking helplessly beneath his steady grip.
He lowered his mouth to hers. Slow. Open. Filthy. His tongue stroked deep while he maintained that maddening grind. She tasted salt and hunger and restraint. His arms trembled slightly where they braced beside her head. He was suffering too. She felt it in the way his cock twitched inside her every time she clenched, in the way his breathing grew heavier with each movement.
He broke the kiss and trailed his mouth down her throat, sucking hard enough to mark, teeth grazing before his tongue soothed the sting. His hand slid between them.
His fingers found her clit.
He did not rub at first. He pressed firmly, steady pressure over the swollen bud while continuing those small, devastating motions inside her.
Her back arched off the tile. A broken sound tore from her throat. Her nails dragged down his back, leaving heated lines in their wake. Her thighs trembled violently beneath him.
"Close," she gasped. "I am so close. Please."
He lifted his head and watched her. Dark. Intent. Completely in control.
His thumb increased the pressure slightly, never rushing, never frantic. He wanted her trembling. He wanted her begging. He wanted her right there on the brink.
And he kept her there.
He watched her unravel beneath him.
His thumb pressed harder against her clit, not faster, just firmer, grinding small circles while his hips resumed that devastating pattern. He pulled out slowly until only the swollen head remained inside her, her walls fluttering around the loss, then slid back in with one long stroke that forced a wet sound from both of them.
Out.
In.
Slow. Complete.
Each withdrawal dragged along her most sensitive spot. Each return pushed deep enough to make her gasp, to make her inner muscles clamp down hard and needy. She was so slick that he moved through her effortlessly, yet the fullness never lessened. She felt stretched, claimed, used exactly the way she wanted.
He lowered his forehead to hers.
"Look at me," he ordered quietly.
She forced her eyes open. They were molten. Dark. Possessive.
His mouth covered hers again, swallowing the last of her plea as his rhythm changed.
The next thrust was deeper.
Harder.
He drew all the way out, almost abandoning her completely, then drove back in with force that knocked a cry from her lungs. The tile echoed the impact of skin against skin. Her legs tightened around his waist instinctively.
He set a rhythm then. Powerful. Intentional. Every stroke carried weight. Every thrust pushed her closer to breaking apart.
Her moans rose higher, turned sharp, helpless. Her body met him now, hips lifting off the floor to take him deeper, to feel every inch.
He leaned down, mouth at her ear.
"Come for me."
His thumb pressed harder, circling with purpose now. His hips ground deep and held there, stretching her completely while his cock pulsed inside her.
The coil snapped.
Iyisha shattered beneath him, back arching violently, nails digging into his shoulders as her walls clamped down in rhythmic waves. She cried out, the sound raw and unrestrained, body trembling as pleasure tore through her in relentless pulses.
She soaked him. Soaked herself. Every muscle in her body tightened and released around him again and again.
Malcolm groaned, control finally slipping.
He thrust through her climax, harder now, chasing his own release while her spasms milked him. His breathing broke apart, turned rough and guttural as he drove deep and stayed there.
Then he came.
Buried fully inside her, hips pressed flush to hers, his body shuddered as release rolled through him in heavy pulses. He held himself deep, unmoving except for the way he throbbed inside her, emptying slowly, completely.
They remained locked together, breathing hard, foreheads touching.
Her legs were still wrapped around him. His hands still braced at her waist.
For several long seconds neither of them spoke.
Then he brushed his mouth to the corner of her lips, softer than before.
"Again," he murmured quietly.
