completion

Sarah’s sudden strength shocked him—one moment she was trembling in his arms, the next she was fire. She shoved at his chest, not to reject him, but to drive him backward until his legs hit the bed. He tumbled onto it, breath stolen from his lungs, eyes wide as she stood over him.

Her face was flushed crimson, lips swollen from his kisses, chest heaving with frantic breaths. Her hand went to her hip, then yanked the hem of her skirt up high enough to reveal the dark lace panties clinging to her. For a heartbeat she froze, staring down at him—at her son sprawled on the sheets, already hard, already **** for her. The sight seemed to push her over the brink.

With a sharp, frustrated sound—half anger, half hunger—she hooked her thumbs in the waistband and ripped the panties with a tearing sound that made Tom’s stomach clench and his cock twitch violently. She flung the ruined scrap aside, the gesture raw and final, as though she was burning a bridge behind her.

Then she was climbing onto the bed, onto him, straddling his hips with a frantic urgency that felt almost like fury. The hem of her skirt rode up around her waist, her bare thighs spreading over him, hot and trembling.

“God, Tom—” she hissed, her voice ragged, breaking apart as her hands braced on his chest. Her eyes were wild, torn between disbelief and need, pupils blown wide.

He barely had time to groan before she reached down, fingers wrapping around him, guiding him. The hot, slick pressure of her folds split open around the head of his cock, and the sound that left both of them was a strangled gasp, a moan punched out of their lungs at once.

Then she sank down, slowly at first—shaking, quivering, her nails digging crescents into his chest—then faster, until his entire length was buried inside her. Her back arched, hair tumbling down, a cry escaping her lips that sounded almost pained, almost relieved, almost ecstatic.

Tom’s hands clutched her hips, helpless, his vision swimming as Sarah began to ride him—tentative at first, then with gathering ****, her rhythm quickening like a woman giving herself to madness. Each downward thrust of her body was a shockwave through his nerves, each upward lift a torment of absence.

The room echoed with her ragged breathing, the slap of skin, the squeak of the mattress. She bit her lip, eyes darting down at him with a look that was both horrified and hungry.

“You—oh god—you’ve always…” Her words splintered into gasps, unfinished, but Tom knew what she meant. What he had wished. What she now felt.

He arched up into her, groaning, every muscle in his body burning, as Sarah rode him harder.

Sarah didn’t stop—if anything, her climax only drove her harder. She rode him through it, her hips rising and dropping with a fevered rhythm, the wet heat of her body clenching tight, pulling him deeper each time. Her breasts bounced with every motion, the straps of her dress slipping further down her shoulders until one strap dangled uselessly against her arm.

Her breath came ragged, almost sobbing with need, hair whipping against her face as she moved faster, wetter, greedier. “Ohh—Tom—God—don’t stop, don’t stop—” she gasped, voice breaking on his name.

Tom’s fingers locked around her waist, nails biting in, trying to steady her wild movements even as he bucked up into her, losing the rhythm, driven purely by instinct. The heat coiled low in his gut, too strong to fight.

Sarah’s eyes flew open suddenly, locking on his—dark, hungry, ****. That forbidden fire in her gaze nearly undid him right there.

“Cum with me,” she panted, grinding down hard, her voice trembling with command and plea at once. “Do it—now—inside me—”

That broke him. With a strangled groan he thrust up into her, spilling hard, pulse after pulse. Sarah cried out again, her own body clamping around him in a second, fierce release, milking him as she threw her head back.