"Nngh -! Yes ... Again.....more -!"
Only sighs and groans are heard,
The room was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight that slipped through the slits of the thick curtains, reflecting the gleam of sweat on the trembling skin. The air is hot, humid, heavy.
Twenty minutes had passed since the first time their bodies had come into contact. Not a meeting of two souls, not a linking of two hearts — this is a transaction. Body by body. Lust for lust.
And Atticus never waits. It never offers tenderness. I never asked him if he was ready.
"Hhnn -! No... -! - wait! It hurts.... it hurts... —!"
He came in without warning. Rough. Like a knife thrust into raw meat-without anesthesia, without mercy. The woman screamed at the beginning, trying to push— but the human body was strange. Even in pain, he learns to adjust. Even under duress, he found a rhythm.
And in that rhythm ... comes enjoyment. Not because they want to, but because of a biological destiny that cannot be denied. His brain releases dopamine. His body betrayed itself.
The hiss of teeth clattering, of breath choked out of the woman's ranum lips
"A-Ahh ... don't... not that fast...!"
"Nngh ... Atticus ... slowly...!"
Atticus doesn't care. For him, it's not about her. Not about the woman under him-the body of five hundred, or maybe eight hundred, he had already forgotten to count.
What matters is clearance.
Deliverance from the passion that burns his bones, from the thirst that never goes out, from the curse that clings to his every pore.
The sound of hands clawing bed linen-nails scratching the fabric, looking for a handle
Heavy breathing, gasping- like a drowning person
"Aaahh... Atticus... Atticus..."
He moves violently. The rhythm is unforgiving-up and down, back and forth, beat after beat that shakes the old iron bed until it creaks like a ghost scream.
The woman wept between her moans.
Atticus pressed his hips deeper — and from the woman's lips came a long moan, "Aaahh..."
His eyes were glazed, but his hands were no longer fighting. It precisely clutched his back-his nails scratched the skin, leaving a red trail that would heal before dawn.
In the name of Jesus Christ — no longer in denial, but in
"Haa... haa ... yes... yes, there... again..."
"Don't stop... don't... I... I...can't take it anymore...!"
Breathing quickens — chest palpitations, heart sounds are almost audible
And Atticus ... he held her tightly as her body began to tremble.
Not because of love. but because this is the part he is most waiting for — the moment when the human body begins to lose control. When his breathing becomes irregular-gasping, like a fish stranded in the sand. As his voice broke-calling his name, "Atticus... Atticus...", as if he were a savior, as if he were God.
"Angh.....ATTICUS!!"
A long — shrill groan, like the beautiful song of death in Atticus's ears
"Aaaaaaahhh -!!"
The sound of a beating body — severe shaking, muscles tensing, legs kicking empty
Finger grip on the back — the sound of nails scraping the skin, then... silence for a moment
Gasping for breath — intermittent, like an engine running out of gas
"I... I... can't take it... can't take it anymore...!"
She hugged him tightly as the climax came.
Final blow — hard, deep
The woman's body curved like an arc drawn too tightly — her back arched, her neck looking up, her mouth opening in a silent scream that finally exploded — breaking the silence of the night like hammer-smashed glass. His hands gripped Atticus's back with all their might, as if to bring him along to drown in the same pleasure.
The woman groaned — the sound broke, cracked in the middle, like glass forced to withstand pressure for too long.
"A-ahh...! Atticus ... Atticus... I... I can'T take it anymore!!"
His breathing was broken, his chest was going up and down wildly, his eyes were wide — not because of fear, but because his body had crossed the line. His brain is paralyzed. Logic disappears. All that remained was instinct — and it shouted, "louder! FASTER!!!"
"Again...! Push again...! Don't stop...! ANGH....Again....Again....!!"
Her legs stretched wide, her thigh muscles tensed, her vgna gripped tightly-like it wanted to pull her whole soul in, hold her inside, so that she wouldn't leave... so that she wouldn't leave her alone in this destruction.
And Atticus…
He growled-low, deep, from the bottom of his throat. That voice is not human. It was the voice of a wild beast that had finally caught its prey after days of hunger. The bitter sound of victory. The sound of empty satisfaction.