The world had narrowed to a single point of connection, the frantic hammering of my heart against hers. I thought it was over. I thought I was empty, spent, a ruin held together by her arms. But Luna, my gentle revolutionary, had other plans.

She began to move again.

It wasn't a bounce. It wasn't a thrust. It was a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, a masterful rotation that ground me deeper inside her than I thought possible, the slick heat of her cunt enveloping every inch of me in a velvet vise.

The wet sounds of our joining filled the air—soft, obscene squelches as her arousal coated my shaft, dripping down to soak my balls and the sheets beneath us.

A soft, broken sound escaped my lips as her slick, hot walls clenched around me, a slow, rhythmic milking that tugged at my oversensitive cock, drawing out sparks of pleasure-pain from nerves I thought were numb.

My cock, which I thought was done for the night, twitched with a renewed, brutal interest, swelling impossibly harder inside her, the veins pulsing against her fluttering inner muscles.

"Luna… what…" I couldn't form a coherent thought, my voice ragged, tasting the salt of her skin still on my tongue from earlier kisses.

"Shh," she breathed, her back arching in a perfect, graceful curve. The fairy lights caught the sheen of sweat on her skin, making her glow like polished marble, and I could smell her now—musky arousal mixed with the faint vanilla of her lotion and the sharp tang of our combined release.

The movement made her ass clench, the muscles a work of art as she lifted up, just an inch, then rotated her hips in a slow, grinding circle that dragged the ridged head of my cock against her most sensitive spots, sending a bolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure straight up my spine.

"I told you. This is for me. For us. Just feel."

My hands, which had been limp at my sides, came back to life, roaming her body with a worshiper's reverence.

I traced the elegant line of her spine, feeling each vertebra shift beneath sweat-damp skin as she moved, the heat of her radiating into my palms.

I slid them down to the full, firm curve of her ass, my fingers digging into the soft, yielding flesh, guiding her, feeling the raw power coiled in her every movement—the subtle tremor of her thighs against mine, the way her skin flushed hot under my touch.

She was in complete control, and the surrender was so absolute it was dizzying.

Her rhythm never faltered. It was a slow, torturous, devastating wave of pleasure that washed over me again and again, each roll of her hips producing that lewd, wet friction, her juices smearing across my groin with every grind.

Each rotation, each subtle grind, hit a different place inside her, and I could feel it in the way her cunt would spasm, a tight, hot clench that was Heaven's own fist, rippling along my length like liquid silk.

My gaze was locked on where we were joined, watching a big part of my cock disappear into her swollen, pink folds, then reappear, glistening with her creamy arousal, only to be swallowed again by her slow, deliberate descent—the sight hypnotic, the scent of her pussy intoxicating, heady and raw.

My thumbs traced the dip of her waist before my hands slid up her torso, cupping her breasts. They were heavy, soft, the perfect weight in my palms, warm and slightly sticky with sweat. Her nipples, already hard points, tightened even more under my thumbs, pebbled and begging.

A soft moan escaped her lips, a sound of pure, unguarded pleasure that vibrated through her chest and into mine, more potent than any scream.

Leaning forward, I captured one in my mouth. I didn't bite or suckle roughly. I kissed it, my tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, tasting the salt of her sweat mingled with the faint sweetness of her skin.

Her movements faltered for a half-second, a stutter in her perfect rhythm, and her hands flew to my hair, her fingers tangling in the strands, nails scraping lightly against my scalp in a way that sent shivers down my back.

"Peter… yes…" she sighed, her head falling back, the sound breathy and broken.

I worshipped her other breast in the same way, giving it the same slow, tender attention, inhaling the warm, feminine scent rising from her cleavage.

I kissed my way across the valley between them, up the delicate arch of her collarbones, my lips tracing random patterns on her skin, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse under my mouth like a trapped bird.

She was a living, breathing masterpiece, and I was nothing more than a humble admirer, privileged to be in her presence.

All the while, she continued her slow, hypnotic ride.

Her hips swiveled and rolled, her ass flexing under my gripping hands, her cunt gripping me tight with that relentless, slippery heat, the inner walls massaging me in waves that made my toes curl. It was the most intense, gentle fucking I had ever experienced—the drag of her body against mine, the slick slide, the way her breath hitched in time with each deep grind.

It was a conversation without words, an exchange of power and vulnerability that left me stripped bare.

One of my hands left her breast, tracing a slow path down the sweat-slick plane of her stomach, feeling the quiver of her muscles beneath.

My fingers found the thatch of soft, damp hair above her clit, then dipped lower, seeking out the swollen, responsive bundle of nerves—slippery and throbbing under my touch. I didn't press hard. I didn't rub frantically.

I simply rested my thumb against it, letting her movements do the work, letting her grind her pleasure against my hand, the wet sounds growing louder, more desperate.

"Oh." The sound was small, sharp. A gasp that tasted like surrender on the air. "Oh, Peter."

Her pace started to change, becoming a little more desperate, a little less controlled, her breaths coming in soft pants that fanned hot across my face. The slow, rolling waves began to crest, her hips bucking slightly, seeking more pressure, her cunt fluttering wildly around me now, soaking us both in fresh arousal.

"Just let go, baby," I whispered, my voice hoarse, thick with the taste of her on my lips. "I've got you. Let go for me."

That was all it took. Her back arched impossibly, her body going rigid for a single, perfect moment, every muscle tensing under my hands.

"Ahhhh~"

A long, low moan tore from her throat, not a scream, but a sound of profound, soul-deep release that I felt vibrate through her core and into mine. Her cunt clenched around me in deep, rhythmic pulses, hot and vise-like, milking a final, shuddering spasm from my own body—pleasure spilling from me in warm, gentle waves that left me gasping.

She collapsed onto my chest, a boneless, trembling weight, her skin fever-hot and slick against mine.

We were both breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat, our hearts pounding a frantic, synchronized rhythm against each other's ribs. The air was thick with the scent of our sex—musky, salty, utterly spent—our connection.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, my hands stroking her hair, her back, feeling the fine tremors still rippling through her. I could feel her tears, hot and silent, as they soaked into my shoulder.

Not tears of sadness, but of release. Of total and complete surrender.

We lay there for a long time, just breathing, just being, the taste of her lingering on my tongue, the feel of her etched into every sense. The fairy lights cast their gentle glow, a silent witness to our quiet revolution.

Eventually, her breathing evened out, her body relaxing completely against mine.

I thought she was asleep until she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "I really needed this, Peter."

"I know," I whispered back, my lips in her hair, inhaling her scent one more time. "So did I. That is why I came. To be with you."

She shifted, just enough to look up at me, her eyes shining in the dim light. "You see? You don't always have to be the storm. Sometimes… you just have to be the sea. Let me set the tide."

I smiled, a real, genuine smile that I felt all the way to my soul. I cupped her face, my thumb stroking her cheek, still flushed and warm. "My corrupted angel," I murmured. "Teaching a god about tides."

"Someone had to," she whispered, leaning in to kiss me, a soft, lingering press of lips that was more intimate and powerful than any act of raw passion, her taste flooding me once more. "You were getting a little too big for your celestial britches."

I laughed, a low, rumbling sound in my chest. We stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, in the golden glow, in the quiet aftermath. Tomorrow, the world would come knocking.

But tonight, I was just Peter. And for the first time in a long time, that was more than enough.

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