She fucks him again

“Nina,” she said.

His face changed instantly.

Eyes wide. Color drained. Mouth working uselessly.

“I—I didn’t—fuck—wait—”

“You’re marrying Nina.” Her voice was flat. Her nails dug into his chest. “That Nina?”

Derek was gasping beneath her, his cock still twitching inside her, her walls milking the last of his orgasm. She could feel the slick warmth of his cum already starting to leak down between her thighs.

But she didn’t stop.

She stayed seated on him, full and throbbing, and leaned forward to grab the phone without asking.

Derek tensed. “Emily—”

She held it up between two fingers, tilted the screen so he could see it. The light glowed across both their flushed faces.

“She looks so happy,” Emily murmured, voice raw, breathless.

His eyes widened with panic. “I didn’t know—I swear, I didn’t know you knew her—”

“Shut up,” she said softly. Her pussy clenched again, slow and deliberate, and he let out a broken groan.

“I said,” she repeated, lips at his ear, “shut the fuck up.”

She dropped the phone back onto the nightstand face-down. Then started to move again.

Not gently this time.

Hard.

Her hips snapped down in sharp, wet smacks, the sound obscene and echoing in the quiet hotel room. She rode him with her hands on his chest, breasts bouncing with every thrust, thighs tight around his waist, her face twisted with something between anger and arousal.

“You were gonna marry her,” she panted, grinding down so deep it made his breath hitch. “You still are.”

“I—Emily—fuck, I didn’t—”

“I said shut up!”

She slammed down on him again, hard enough to make him whimper. Her nails raked down his chest.

“And you still came inside me.”

He moaned—humiliated, aroused, completely broken beneath her.

Her own second orgasm was building fast—faster than she expected. The guilt was there, yes, pounding at the edges of her mind like fists on a locked door—but it was muffled. Distant. Her body was alight, soaked, hungry, the weight of his betrayal—not hers—burning between her thighs like fuel.

She gritted her teeth and kept fucking him. Kept pushing herself closer. She wanted to cum again. She needed to.

And she was going to do it on top of him, while she could still feel his cum inside her.

She rode him faster. The slick slap of their bodies grew louder, wetter, more urgent. Her hands planted flat on his chest. Her sweat dripped down onto his skin. He was whining beneath her now, overstimulated and helpless, but she didn’t care.

Her legs started to shake. Her vision blurred.

She came hard—again.

This time she screamed, collapsing forward onto his chest, her pussy spasming around him as her nails dug deep into his skin. His hands fluttered at her hips and she could feel him spurting inside her once more, but she didn’t let up—not until every last ripple had wrung itself out of her.

And then she slumped. Exhausted. Wet. Full. Even more of his cum dripping out of her and onto the chair beneath them.

The phone was still face-down on the nightstand.