They did not leave the lean-to when morning fully arrived.
Ressa woke already reaching for him. Her hand closed around his cock, stroking it from soft to hard with slow, deliberate pulls. Aiden watched her face—green eyes half-lidded, lips parted, the marks from the night before still faint on her throat and thighs. She climbed over him without a word, guided him to her entrance, and sank down in one long, wet slide.
"Fuck—still so thick—" she groaned, voice already rough. "Fill me again. Don't hold back this time."
He gripped her hips and thrust up hard. The wet slap of skin on skin cracked through the lean-to. She cried out, loud and unrestrained, and began to ride him with rolling, hungry motions. Every downward drop drove him to the root. The sound of her soaked cunt taking him filled the small space—obscene, rhythmic, relentless.
"Harder," she demanded. "Clap my ass with those hips. Make it echo."
