Page 91 of Soft Flannel Hank

“I wanted to see you for this part,” he murmured, staring down at her. His hands flexed and released and his fingers twitched, like he was waiting for a fly ball to be pitched his way.

Without warning, he gripped both of her ankles and yanked her toward him. Esther shrieked in surprise until he pressed his sheathed cock against her aching folds. She moaned as he leaned over, kissing her slow and deep.

“Can I?” Hank asked.

Esther nodded. And then he was there, pushing forward with his hips until he was filling her, inch by inch. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels pressed into the round cheeks of his ass. He rubbed her shins, her calves, her knees with his rough hands until he was fully seated inside of her. She’d been full of him before in the recliner, but it had nothing on this, her body flat on the bed, a clear road for his invasion.

Hank began fucking her slowly. As if he had all the time in the world, as if every single slow, rhythmic drag of his cock against her insides wasn’t the sweetest torture of his life.

In this moment, there was no witchcraft. There was no divination. There was no danger. There was magic, but it was the ancient magic of two people whose very breath had synchronized, their hearts beating in unison, their bodies moving in a dance as old as time itself. Esther had never felt magic like that before.

Hank’s thumb grazed her clit, jerking her back to the present as he made slow, steady, soft circles around it, the rhythm matching those of his thrusts into her. Unhurried. Reverent.

Esther felt herself climbing, her body straining against itself, like she was outgrowing the very skin that held her together. She thrashed her head from side to side, needing more of something that she couldn’t begin to name.

“Do you have any lube?” he asked.

“Bathroom. In my toiletry bag.”

Hank stepped away from her, sliding out of her body, and she wailed at the sudden emptiness he left behind. But then the bottle of lube dropped next to her hips and he was back and pressing into her slickness again as he crooned, “Shhh. Shhh, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

He rubbed her thighs with his hands as he fucked her slowly again, her body shivering around that fullness that she couldn’t get enough of. Especially after having had it and lost it. How was she to go about her life that empty ever again?

She felt the cold drop of the lube against her clit and moaned loudly as his thumb circled her clit like last time, in those deft, lazy circles, but with less resistance. Decadent.

“Shhh,” he said again as she arched. “I’m gonna take care of you, Esther.”

Esther felt her cunt heat slowly but steadily, like iron glowing white hot in a fire. Hank was patient, making those tight circles in just the right spot. She felt the orgasm approaching as it built, brick by brick, until she slammed into it.

She grabbed the quilt and pulled it over her face, screaming into it, but Hank yanked it away.

“I told you I want to see you for this part,” he said, his voice a low growl.

And still she came. She thrashed and cried out and scratched her nails down the burly breadth of his taut belly. And still he fucked her slowly. And still he kept those lazy, deft circles.

She came and came and came until she couldn’t remember what it felt like to not be made of sensation, until she started laughing. She cackled through the immense pleasure because never in her life had she imagined someone could come so hard for so long. Then again, never in her life had anyone ever been so patient in getting her there.

Esther arched her back and gripped his forearms, pulling his hands away from her oversensitive clit. “Fuck me,” she sobbed. “Oh my god, please fuck me, Hank.”

Esther had never begged a man for anything. Not for sex. Not for attention. Not for mercy. And yet she would crawl on her belly over broken glass to beg this man to fuck her as hard as she knew he was capable of doing.

Her only warning was the way his hands gripped her thighs tightly, pressing hard enough to bruise, before he slammed into her, his pelvis battering against her ass as he bottomed out inside of her. He pulled out until only his cockhead remained inside her clenching heat before doing it again, so hard her teeth clacked together. He shifted into a steady pace, faster, but just as hard.

“Esther,” he groaned, the first indication that he was just as affected as she was.

Esther opened her eyes and saw Hank biting his bottom lip so hard that she was surprised he wasn’t bleeding. Thick cords raised from the sides of his neck. He grabbed her legs and unwrapped them from around his waist, holding them tightly together against his chest and leaning forward so that her thighs pressed against her belly and he supported his weight with a hand on the mattress.

The change in position made her cunt feel even tighter around him. His cock rubbed against her G-spot and her legs began to shake. Esther felt another orgasm rising to the surface. When it burst over her, she couldn’t scream. She couldn’t shriek. She couldn’t do anything but chant his name over and over and over again, his wild thrusting like the beat of a base drum as she cried out.

“Esther. Fucking hell, Esther,” he shouted through gritted teeth, his eyes wild, the sheet gripped in his fist. His thrusting became more erratic until he pressed into her hard with what almost sounded like a sob. She felt him pulsing inside of her, felt the warmth of him as he filled the condom, his shallow thrusts punctuated by a soft grunt every time.

Esther was boneless. Bodiless. She was just a shimmering pool of magic and cells and spirit glistening in the yellow light from the lamp. Hank collapsed over her, their bodies slippery with sweat, his hair soaked and dripping onto her chest.

She’d been wrong. Once, she’d imagined him as a man thirsting in the desert. She’d fancied herself as the oasis. But now, as he gasped for breath on top of her, her legs wrapped around his torso again and her fingernails tracing gentle swirls through his sweat-soaked hair, she knew the truth.

She’d been the one dying of thirst. Brimming with magic that couldn’t save her and running for her life, she’d been a husk. Hank was the oasis. Hank was the deep, still water in the middle of the desert her life had become. She stared at the wood planks of the ceiling, feeling the electric shock of her magic crackling beneath her skin, steadier than ever before.

And like it had in the diner, she felt that magic coursing out of her fingertips and meeting him, sliding over his skin like water. Hank shivered and lifted his head to look at her.