Pheobe takes her taste

"Stay with me," Phoebe had said, and he did, insofar as he had any say in it. She did it again, and again, and by the third or fourth repetition the trembling in his thighs had stopped being a small thing. She felt it and did not slow for it.

The hand flat on his chest kept him pinned while she leaned over him, copper hair swinging forward, mouth finding his between strokes, her other hand hooked behind his knee with a thumb rubbing small and absent at the tendon. Only gradually did she straighten, pressing harder as she went, until she was sitting back over his hips with her weight settled and his knees still folded against her ribs.

He could see her better from there, which was its own problem. The wet grass squelched under his shoulders with each descent, the tank top was soaked through and clinging, and the boot still on her foot had filled with stream water and dripped onto his hip. The lipstick had not moved.

"Nobody out here but us and the water," she said, close to his ear. "Make all the noise you like."

That was not quite true, and he had a fair idea she knew it. The others were somewhere back among the trees, and one of them had probably already found a reason to wander downstream. Nobody out here but us, he thought, and did not say so.

The hand he still had on her thigh was sliding. He put it down in the grass instead and kept hold with the other, and Phoebe's smile went knowing without her saying anything. She was watching Matt's face now the way she watched a target coming into range.

"You're doing very well," she said, entirely sincerely, which was the most insulting thing anyone had ever said to him.

Slow circles dragged over the same place each time, and with his legs folded up the way they were, every one of them landed somewhere he had no way to brace against. The thumb behind his knee kept rubbing, and the circles slowed until they had almost stopped. "Go on, then," Phoebe said. "I want to see it."

His face, presumably. She had been watching it a while.

Two more circles was all the composure Matt had in him. Then it wound past holding and snapped, hips bucking as far as her hand allowed, heels losing the grass for the soft ground at the bank edge, a noise coming out of him nearer a yelp than anything with dignity in it.

Phoebe went with him. Whatever she had been holding back broke at the same moment, circles shortening into something harder and less even, her face above him coming apart in a way he had not seen yet: mouth open, eyes shut, the laugh in her chest cracking into a shout. The clench of her pussy came down on him and stayed tight, and that was what finished it, cock jerking, the first hot spurt of it going deep before he had any say in it. It kept coming, weaker each time, none of it going anywhere with her seated flush, and his free hand got as far as her ribs and forgot what it was doing.

Thirty seconds past the point of sense she held him there, and only when his heels had stopped sliding did the pressure of her palm ease. Her hips stayed put regardless.

Matt's cock was still twitching when Pheobe bent to kiss him, hard and pleased, and pulled back grinning. "There he is," Phoebe said. "Nine minutes, Matt. We're going to have to work on your stamina, husband."

"I've had more sex in the last day than in the whole rest of my life," Matt protested and was glad nothign wierd happened this time, mainly because that was already true..

He had avoided the Aphrodite cabin like the plague for years, on the grounds that given how they are encrouraged ot break as many of thier lover's hearts to please their mother, meant that a camper should always be wary of their affections. Right now Matt was contemplating that, maybe he should have taken that girl up on a fling two summers ago.

"Nine," Phoebe repeated with a smirk before rolling her hips once more, purely to hear him groan.

Then she stopped properly and rocked back onto her heels. His legs came down past her, and the whole account arrived at once: hamstrings pulled taut and burning, lower back aching from the arch, hip flexors tight enough that simply flattening out hurt in its own right. None of it had registered until the fold came open.

Phoebe caught his expression as he shifted and moved off him, settling beside his hip with one of his legs across her lap. Matt welcomed the support until her thumbs pressed into the muscle beneath his knee, drawing a curse from him that earned a quiet laugh from the Huntress.

"Breathe through it," she told him, easing the pressure a little. "Slowly."

That was something Matt had several things to say about that, none especially flattering, although the ache was gradually beginning to ease as she worked along his thigh. He was almost prepared to admit she knew what she was doing when her knuckles reached his hip and found something considerably worse.

The sound he made when it finally loosened was one he hoped she would have the decency to forget.

"Better?" Phoebe asked, looking altogether too pleased with herself.

"Yes," he admitted, stretching his leg experimentally. Arguing with the results was becoming difficult, and when Phoebe gathered his other leg across her lap, he was quite happy to let her continue. Even the stubborn tightness behind his knee eventually yielded to her attention, leaving him with considerably fewer complaints than he'd started with.

There was still his lower back to contend with, however, and Phoebe seemed well aware of it. With his legs finally released, Matt accepted her help turning onto his stomach and settled his forehead against his folded arms. The damp grass cooled his chest while her hands worked into the ache beside his spine, finding muscles that had apparently taken considerably more punishment than he'd realised. A few minutes earlier, he might have complained about her methods. By now, he was becoming reluctant to give her any reason to stop.

Camp Half-Blood had sent him limping away from training often enough, although treatment generally consisted of being told to walk it off. Having the person responsible for his present condition volunteer to repair the damage was certainly an improvement, even if Phoebe seemed to be enjoying his complaints rather more than she ought to. Those became less frequent as her hands worked higher along his back, until the sound of the stream and the occasional rustle of leaves occupied most of his attention. By then the afternoon sunlight had crept across his folded arms, and he couldn't have said how long she'd been working.

Matt laughed into his folded arms as Phoebe's hands reached the muscles beneath his ribs.

"Something funny?" she asked, continuing her work.

"You've spent longer fixing the damage than you did causing it."

Phoebe snorted. "Give it a minute."

He'd been about to ask whether she intended to make herself more work when something warm and wet dragged up the length of his spine. Not a fingertip. A tongue, broad and flat, tasting the salt of him from the small of his back toward his shoulder blades. The shiver went through him before he could decide what to do with it.

Turning his head brought copper hair and the curve of her mouth, open, the lipstick still perfect, her eyes on him while she did it again. Slower this time. She licked him the way she might have licked a cut on her own hand, thorough and unhurried, the wet sound of it loud against the stream. A third pass started lower, teeth grazing once at the edge of the stroke before the tongue followed, and the noise that came out of him made her hum against his skin.

Whatever she had decided to add to the massage, interrupting it had stopped being the sensible option. Another slow lick passed between his shoulder blades, and he settled his cheek back against his folded arms and let her.

His cheek settled back against his folded arms, leaving Phoebe to continue while he enjoyed the attention. Another warm touch passed between his shoulder blades, and the small shiver it produced apparently hadn't escaped her notice.

"Thirty-one minutes gone," Phoebe remarked, still close behind him. "And most of that spent on your legs."

"You were the one who did that to them," Matt pointed out.

"And I've fixed them, haven't I?" Phoebe gave the back of his knee an affectionate squeeze. "They'll last longer than you will."

"Wonderful. Glad we've established whose fault that is." Matt considered her remark for a moment before adding, "We've still got a hundred and thirty-one minutes, you know. That's over two hours. You might want to hold off on declaring victory."

"Oh?" The amusement in Phoebe's voice became rather more pronounced. "Planning to prove me wrong, husband?"

"I'd like to think I've got a fighting chance."

Phoebe's laughter had scarcely subsided before she caught Matt by the shoulder and rolled him onto his back.

"Come on. My turn for a massage."

Before he could sit up, she'd settled astride his hips, looking entirely comfortable with the arrangement. From underneath her, Matt wasn't particularly sure how she expected this to work. Her back was well beyond his reach, although her powerful thighs were accessible enough, as were the defined muscles of her stomach. Her shoulders might be another possibility if she leaned forward.

Considering that Phoebe had dispensed with her clothing, however, concentrating on the practicalities was proving rather more difficult than it ought to have been. His gaze wandered upwards as he considered the remaining possibilities, eventually settling on her generous large and round boobs.

Well, those probably counted too.

Phoebe followed his wandering eyes, and a delighted chuckle escaped her.