Lust Meter System: Conquering Beauties

Elena’s eyes opened slowly.

The ceiling above her was the first thing that arrived, high and detailed, the plasterwork at the edges catching the morning light that was coming through the curtains in long pale strips.

She lay there for a moment and let the room come back to her.

The width of it, which was considerable, the kind of bedroom that had been designed around the idea that space was something you could have a lot of and should.

Dark furniture and substantial, a wardrobe along the far wall that ran almost its entire length, a dressing table with a mirror that reflected the morning light back into the room, two chairs near the window that nobody sat in except when she was reading.

She turned her head.

Liam was beside her, asleep, one arm above his head, his breathing slow and even.

She looked at him for a moment.

Then she started to shift, moving carefully, trying to extract herself from the bed without disturbing anything.

His eyes opened.

"You’re finally awake," he said. His voice had the specific roughness of someone who had been awake for at least a few minutes already and was waiting.

She settled back against the pillow. "Morning," she said. Then she looked at the room around her, at the familiar ceiling and the familiar curtains and the wardrobe she had had since she was nineteen. "How did you find my room?"

He turned his head to look at her. "After your unexpected departure from our activities," he said, "I had to carry you somewhere. And this place is genuinely enormous. It took me five full minutes of walking through corridors before I found a room that looked like someone actually slept in it."

She looked at him.

"Five minutes," he said again, making sure it landed.

"The house is large," she said.

"Elena. Five minutes."

She pressed her lips together.

He looked across the room toward the dressing table and the shelves beside it.

Then he looked at the small table near the window, the one with the lamp and the book and the other thing sitting on it.

"I didn’t expect the teddy bear," he said.

He was looking at it.

A well-loved stuffed bear sitting on the small table, its fur worn at the ears from being held, a small embroidered name tag stitched onto the front of it.

"Poof," he said, reading the name.

The pillow hit him before he finished the word.

Not a soft hit.

A full committed swing, the pillow connecting with the side of his head with the specific force of someone who had excellent posture and had put their whole back into it, and he went sideways with it, dropping off his elbow and landing flat.

He lay there looking at the ceiling.

’That was a surprisingly hard hit,’ he thought, genuinely processing it. ’From a pillow. From someone who was asleep ten minutes ago. That was not a light tap.’

Elena was sitting up in the bed, the pillow still in her hand, her hair loose around her shoulders, her expression carrying the specific dignity of someone who had done exactly what needed doing and had no regrets about it.

She moved and got on top of him, settling her knees on either side of him, looking down at him where he was still flat on his back absorbing what had just happened.

"No one insults Poof," she said.

He looked up at her. "I didn’t insult him. I just said I didn’t expect him to be there."

"Same thing," she said.

"That’s not the same thing."

"You already got your revenge," he said.

She looked at him. "Not yet," she said.

She kissed him.

He went with it immediately, his hands finding her waist, pulling her down toward him, and she kissed him properly, her hair falling around both of them, her hands on either side of his face.

He pulled her closer.

She moved against him and he responded and they found each other without any of the preamble that the first time required, just the immediate warmth of two people who already knew each other in this specific way and were returning to it rather than discovering it.

She sat up and guided him in and settled her weight down and went still for a moment, her eyes closing.

"Mm," she said.

Then she started moving.

Her hips rolled forward and back in the slow deliberate rhythm she always started with, her hands pressing flat against his chest, her hair moving with each roll of her hips.

The morning light came through the curtains and sat on her skin and on the room around them, warm and unhurried.

"Oh," she said. "Oh god."

She picked the pace up gradually, her sounds arriving more frequently with each passing minute, her boobs moving with the motion, swaying with each forward roll, the morning air cool around her while the warmth between them built steadily from below.

"Mm," she said. "Oh. Right there."

He drove up to meet her from below and she made a sound that went directly into the morning quiet of the bedroom.

"Haa," she said. "Oh god. Don’t."

He did it again.

"Haa," she said, her head dropping back.

Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta.

Her hips were working with full commitment now, her whole body into the rhythm, her sounds climbing with the pace, each one less managed than the one before.

He had both hands on her hips, feeling every movement she made, pulling her down to meet each upward drive.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Mm. Liam."

Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta. Ta.

"Haa," she said. "Oh god. I’m going to."

He gripped her hips and drove up and she came, her whole body tightening, her hands pressing hard against his chest, a long sound leaving her into the morning air of the wide bedroom.

Her hips kept moving through it, short and trembling, until the last of it had passed and she went still above him.

He came right after, his jaw tight, a low rough sound leaving him, his hands pulling her down against him as everything released.

They stayed like that for a moment.

Her chest against his, both of them breathing, the bedroom quiet and warm around them, Poof sitting on the small table across the room looking at nothing in particular.

"Finally," he said.

She lifted her head and looked at him. "You’re welcome," she said.

A knock at the door.

"Miss." Odessa’s voice, even and professional, coming through the closed door without opening it. "Breakfast is ready for you."

Elena looked at the door. "Thank you, Odessa. I’ll be right there."

A pause. Then the sound of footsteps moving away down the corridor, measured and unhurried, growing fainter until they were gone.

Elena looked back at Liam.

"We should get ready," she said.

---

They used the bathroom that connected to her bedroom, which was the size of a reasonable apartment in most of the places Liam had lived, and brushed their teeth standing side by side at the double sink.

He used a spare toothbrush that appeared from a drawer she opened without looking and he didn’t ask about.

She washed her face and he watched her do it, at the practical unhurried routine of it, at her in the bathroom mirror looking like herself at this hour in this light.

They dressed and came out of the bedroom and into the corridor.

The house was awake now.

Not loudly, but the quality of the air was different from the night before, the specific alive quality of a place that had people in it doing things, the distant sound of movement from somewhere below, the smell of food reaching them even on the upper floor.

They walked.

The corridor on this level was wide and well lit in the morning, the light coming from the tall windows at either end of it, and the details Liam had missed in the lower light of the previous evening arrived now with the morning behind them.

The paneling along the walls, the paintings between the doors, the way the corridor turned at the far end and continued.

Then they came to the passage.

Wide windows, tall, running along the length of it, looking out over the compound below.

The grounds stretched out from this height, the lawns and the paths and the fountain visible to one side, everything in the clean light of the morning.

And the cars.

Liam slowed.

He looked through the window.

There were more of them.

Three he had not seen the night before, parked in a different section of the forecourt, further around and slightly out of the direct line of sight from where they had come in.

A long silver saloon that sat low and serious.

Something dark red that was small and deliberately shaped.

A third that was white and took up more space than the others and had the proportions of something that had been designed to make a point.

He stopped walking and pointed.

"You have more cars," he said.

Elena looked at where he was pointing.

Something passed across her face that was somewhere between recognition and mild surprise, the expression of someone who had been reminded of something they had simply not been thinking about.

"Oh," she said. "Those." She looked at them through the window. "Those are cars I don’t really use anymore. I completely forgot they were out there."

Liam turned and looked at her.

"You forgot," he said.

"They’ve been there for a while," she said.

He turned back to the window. The dark red one. The white one. The silver one sitting low on its wheels like it had somewhere important to be.

"You forgot that those were out there," he said again, not a question this time, just his brain repeating the information back to itself while it processed.

"There are a few more around the side as well, I think," she said, looking at the window with the mild expression of someone doing a quiet inventory. "From before I decided what I actually liked driving."

Liam looked at her.

She looked at him.

Something crossed her face. "After breakfast," she said, "I can show you."

He looked at her for a second longer.

"Yeah," he said, his voice coming out slightly differently than he intended it to. "Yeah alright."

They kept walking toward the dining room, the morning settling into the house around them, the smell of food getting closer with each turn of the corridor.

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