Bedroom in mind, Christian pushed forward with the two women.
Annabelle remained in his arms, her weight nothing to him, yet his steps still faltered slightly — not from strain, but from the overwhelming sensation of her pressed against him, from her cunt grinding slow and shameless against the aching length of his cock.
The soaked cotton of her borrowed shirt had ridden up completely; nothing separated them now but friction and fabric that was more suggestion than barrier. Every step jolted her clit along his shaft, dragging a fresh tremor through her.
Eva didn't fall behind.
Her mouth never left his neck — sucking, biting, painting dark blooming marks that would linger for days. "Gonna mark you till you can't hide it," she muttered, half growl, half prayer.
They staggered through the short hallway and up the stairs, one step after another, and Christian had to hold back a curse as the bedroom felt impossibly far from the entrance.
