Infinite Rebate System: Beautiful Women And Endless Returns

Xavier’s hips began a slow rhythm. Deep. Measured. Each thrust pushed a soft sound from her throat, the kind that escaped without permission.

Sarah’s fingers found his shoulders. Her nails dragged down his back as he moved, leaving red lines that would fade to pink by morning. The lamplight caught the sweat forming at his temples. She watched a bead of it fall onto her collarbone.

"More," she said.

Xavier’s jaw tightened. He pulled out.

Before she could ask why, his hands were at her hips, rolling her onto her stomach. The sheets bunched beneath her cheek. She heard him shift behind her, felt the mattress dip as he knelt, and then his palm pressed flat against the small of her back, arching her.

"Like this."

Not a question.

His other hand gripped her hip. The head of him found her again, sliding through the slickness of her, and when he pushed inside, the angle was different. Deeper. The new pressure made her gasp into the pillow.

He didn’t start slow this time.

Xavier set a pace that rocked her forward with each thrust. His fingers dug into her hip hard enough to leave bruises. Purple thumbprints she’d find tomorrow in the shower. The sound of him hitting her filled the room, wet and rhythmic, the headboard beginning its complaint against the wall.

Sarah pushed back against him. Met each stroke with her own.

"Fuck, Sarah." His voice was strained. "You feel.."

He didn’t finish. His hand slid from her hip to her hair, gathering the tangled strands at the base of her skull, pulling just enough to tilt her head back. The stretch in her neck made her hiss. The position pushed him deeper.

She reached one hand back, searching for his thigh, his stomach, anything to anchor herself. His skin was slick under her palm. She felt the muscle of his abdomen flex with each thrust, felt his rhythm start to falter.

"Not yet," she managed.

He slowed. Barely.

His grip in her hair loosened. His other hand moved from her hip, sliding down the curve of her waist, over her stomach, until his fingers found her where they were joined. He circled her clit in time with his thrusts. Once, twice, three times and her whole body clenched around him.

"I want to see you."

She understood.

Sarah pulled away from him, turning onto her back, then rising onto her elbows. Xavier sat back on his heels, watching her. His chest was flushed. His breathing ragged.

She swung one leg over his lap.

The new angle changed everything. She faced away from him, her back against his chest, her knees bracketing his thighs. Reverse cowgirl. She reached down and guided him inside her again, sinking onto him inch by inch, feeling the stretch from this new position.

Xavier’s hands found her hips. But he didn’t move them.

"Your pace," he said against her shoulder blade.

Sarah took a breath.

Then she began to ride him.

Slow at first. Rising until only the tip remained inside her, then sinking back down, letting the fullness of him spread through her belly. She controlled the rhythm. She controlled the depth. Each time she rose, she felt the cool air on her wet skin. Each time she sank, she felt him everywhere.

Xavier’s hands stayed on her hips, guiding but not leading. His thumbs traced small circles on her hipbones as she moved. His breathing was uneven against her back.

The new angle let her see everything. The wall of her bedroom, the lamp casting its amber circle, the reflection of their bodies in the dark window. Two shapes moving together. Hers controlling the pace.

She sped up.

The sound of her thighs slapping against his filled the room. She leaned forward slightly, changing the angle again, and the new pressure made stars flicker at the edges of her vision. Her hand went to his knee, bracing herself.

"Like that," she breathed. "Right there."

Xavier’s fingers tightened on her hips. He was letting her take what she needed, giving her the space to find the rhythm that would undo her. His restraint was almost audible. The tension in his thighs, the way his breath caught when she ground down in a particular way.

Sarah closed her eyes.

She focused on the sensation of him inside her, the friction of each rise and fall, the way her body was learning what it wanted in real time.

Xavier remembered the old version of her. The one who would have been directing this, orchestrating it, treating his pleasure as a secondary concern. That woman felt like a stranger now.

This was different.

She was present in every second. In the sweat on her upper lip. In the ache building in her thighs. In the way Xavier’s hands trembled against her hips, letting her lead even when his body was clearly screaming for more.

"I’m close," she said.

His response was a groan pressed into her spine.

She didn’t slow down.

She rode him harder, chasing the pressure that was coiling low in her belly, letting it build until she couldn’t breathe through it. Her movements became less controlled. Messier, needier. The headboard had stopped complaining. The only sounds were her breathing and the wet slap of their bodies and Xavier’s broken exhales against her back.

The orgasm came from somewhere deep.

It hit her in waves, starting at the center of her and radiating outward, pulling a cry from her throat that she didn’t recognize. Her body locked up, then shuddered, then locked again. She kept moving through it, kept riding him, because stopping felt impossible.

Xavier’s hands finally moved.

He gripped her hips and thrust upward once, twice, three times. Short, sharp movements; and she felt him pulse inside her, felt the heat of him spill into her, felt his whole body go rigid against her back.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

The only sound was their breathing, ragged and uneven, slowly returning to normal. Sarah’s legs were shaking. She was still impaled on him, still connected, and she didn’t want to move.

Xavier’s arms came around her waist.

He pulled her back against his chest, tucking his chin over her shoulder, holding her in place. His heart thudded against her spine. His breathing was hot against her ear.

She could feel him softening inside her.

Neither of them spoke.

The lamp flickered once. A bulb nearing the end of its life then steadied.

Sarah looked down at his hands on her stomach, at the contrast of his darker skin against hers, at the mess they’d made on her thighs. She should get up. She should clean off. She should...

"Stay," Xavier said.

It wasn’t a question.

She leaned back into his chest.

The rough mix had long since ended. The phone screen had gone dark on the windowsill. The city hummed its late-night hum outside the window, distant and uninterested.

Sarah let her eyes close.

She could feel him still inside her, soft now, but still connected. The feeling of it, of being so completely joined to another person was something she hadn’t let herself want before. In the old life, sex had been a transaction. A release. A thing you did and then moved on from.

This felt like staying.

Xavier’s lips brushed her shoulder.

"You okay?"

She nodded. Her throat was too tight for words.

The lamplight held steady.

The room smelled like sex and sweat and something floral from the hand soap in the bathroom down the hall. The sheets were twisted beneath them. The pillow was somewhere near the foot of the bed.

Sarah shifted slightly, and Xavier’s arms tightened.

"Not yet," he muttered in a weak tone.

She smiled against the dark.

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