09-09-2026, 02:34 AM
Chapter 153: Summers Approval
# Scene 1
The villa door closed behind him. Los Gatos night. Cool air. The walk to Summer’s house took two minutes. Her red Porsche sat in the drive, hood still warm to the touch.
Selvam knocked.
The door swung open. Summer launched into his arms. Her legs hooked around his hips. Her mouth found his before he could speak.
“You’re back.” She kissed him again. “How was ISRO? Did they treat you like the rock star you are? Or is Indian bureaucracy just as bad as you said?”
“Worse.” His hands found her waist under the thin crop-top. “They gave the senior engineer’s chair to a politician who had never seen a launch vehicle.”
She grinned against his mouth. “You should run for office. Mr. Tony Stark of Tamil Nadu. The ladies would love that.”
Her fingers worked his shirt buttons. One. Two. Her breath was warm on his collarbone.
He caught her hands.
“I need to say something first.”
Summer went still. Her feet found the floor. She looked at his face. The grin faded.
“Okay.”
“It’s about Yazhini.”
“Krishnamoorthy’s daughter?” She half-laughed. “The nineteen-year-old?”
“Yes.”
The laugh held. Then collapsed. She watched his eyes. Her hands went loose in his grip.
“She took sleeping pills. Fifteen of them. Ranganayaki found her in time.”
Summer’s breath caught. Her fingers tightened.
“The hospital pumped her stomach. She told her parents everything. They pressed me at dinner. The astrologer’s chart came back a perfect ten. The wedding is in six weeks.”
“She’s nineteen.”
“I know.”
“Selvam.”
He didn’t fill the space.
“Vanitha argued against it. Then she changed her mind. Said we’re both responsible for the shape Yazhini’s feelings took. That the honest response is to let the marriage happen.”
Summer was quiet. The porch light hummed above them. Her dark blonde hair fell across one shoulder.
“I’m in love with you.” Her voice came clean. No performance. “I’ve been for a while. I was waiting for a moment that felt right to say it.”
Selvam pulled her into him. His chin rested at her temple. Her body was warm against his chest.
“I have feelings for you too.” His voice was low. “Real ones. Not the category I manage and set aside. The kind I named to myself on the drive back from Sacramento. I haven’t been able to categorize them cleanly since.”
Summer’s breath hitched. “Vanitha told you to go back.”
“Yes.”
Her face pressed against his chest. She cried. Quiet. No trying to stop it. His hands moved on her back. The thin crop-top rode up. Her nipples hardened against the fabric.
Her fingers found his shirt buttons again. Working them slowly. Between tears. Focused. Unhurried. The way she did everything she had decided to do properly.
He let her.
The shirt came off. Her palms spread across his chest. His stomach. Warm. She looked up at him.
“I love you.” Her voice broke. “I’m not sure I can share you the way marriage formalizes things. I’ve been fine with the sex. With the other women. Because none of it came with a ceremony. A thali. A priest chanting someone else’s name beside yours.”
“I understand the difference.”
“I’m not sure you do.” Her hands slid to his belt. “I’m also not sure I’m going to stop.”
She pulled him inside. The door closed behind them.
# Scene 2
Selvam pulled her thin top over her head to reveal her full breasts.
“Oh Summer, I always loved your breasts.” he groaned.
He kissed her, warm. Her tongue pressed against his. Her hands found his face. Held it. She tasted like mint and the faint sweet of something he couldn’t name.
He backed her against the foyer wall. His hands went to her waist. The thin top was cotton. He could feel the heat of her through it.
Her mouth curved. Left corner higher than the right. She pushed off the wall and took his hand. Pulled him deeper into the house. Her skirt whispered around her legs. The waist chain clicked faintly against her skin. Gold links. He hadn’t seen it until now.
The living room lamp was still on. She stood in its light and waited.
He pulled her thin top over her head in one slow motion. It caught on her arms. On her hair. He worked it free. Let it drop.
Her breasts were bare. Full. Heavy. The lamplight caught the pale undersides. Her nipples were already tight.
He cupped them in both palms. Held their weight. Warm. Soft. His thumbs brushed the nipples. Circles. Slow.
She inhaled. Sharp. Her eyes closed.
He took the right nipple into his mouth. Drew it slow. His tongue circled. Then sucked. Firm pressure.
“Selvam.” Her voice broke.
He worked it with his mouth. Pulled the whole breast against his face. One hand still cupping the left. His tongue flicked. Sucked. Held.
Her fingers threaded into his hair. Gripped.
He switched to the left. Same attention. His mouth closed over the nipple. His tongue worked the underside. Then the tip. He sucked until her grip tightened in his hair and her breathing went shallow.
The thought arrived without warning.
Summer’s breasts had the settled weight of a woman in her prime. Full. Soft. The way they rested in his palms was different. Yazhini’s were smaller. Higher. Not yet settled into their final shape.
He struck the thought. Shut it down. Put his mouth back on Summer’s left breast and sucked until the comparison dissolved into warmth and skin and the sound of her breathing.
She looked down at him. Her eyes were wet.
“Yazhini is so young.” Her voice came low. Rough. “I am genuinely glad for her. I’m glad for things I can’t have myself. A young woman who loves you that completely.” Her hand stroked his cheek. “She’ll keep you happy for a long time.”
He pulled back from her breast. Looked up.
“I’ve been managing to keep myself busy without assistance.”
She laughed. One sharp sound. It broke through the tears. The particular helplessness of someone who finds a person funny at exactly the wrong moment.
“Shut up.” She wiped her eye with the back of her hand. “That’s not what I meant.”
He bit her lower lip. Not gentle. His teeth closed on the full soft curve of it. Held. Then released.
Her breath caught.
His hands went to her hips. Found the waistband of her panties under the skirt. Slid them down. The fabric caught on the curve of her ass. He worked it free. Down her thighs. She stepped out of them. Left them on the floor.
He lifted her. One arm under her thighs. One behind her back. She weighed nothing. Her arms went around his neck. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Bare skin on his shirt.
The kitchen was cool. Dark. He set her on the counter edge. Cold stone against her bare ass. She flinched.
“Cold.”
“Good.”
He knelt between her thighs. Her skirt bunched at her waist. He pushed it higher. The lamplight from the living room reached partway. Enough.
He put his mouth on her pussy.
Wet. Warm. Her clit was already hard under his tongue. He pressed flat against it. Circled. Slow.
She gripped the counter edge. Both hands. White knuckles.
He worked her clit with the same focus he brought to mountain corridor timing constants. To the NASA negotiation room. Reading every shift in her breathing. Every twitch in her thighs. Adjusting pressure. Rhythm. The angle of his tongue.
“There.” Her voice was thin. “Right there.”
He stayed on it. Tongue flat. Then pointed. Then flat again. His hands held her thighs open. Thumbs pressing into the soft inner skin.
Her breathing changed. Sharp inhales. Shallow. Her hips started to move. Small shifts against his mouth.
“I’m close.” She gripped the counter harder. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t stop. His tongue worked her clit with steady pressure. Circling. Then a fast flick over the hood. Then back to steady.
She came hard. Her back arched. Her voice carried into the open kitchen. Loud. Unguarded. Her thighs clamped around his head. He kept his mouth on her through every pulse. Felt her clit throb against his tongue. Hard. Rapid.
When it eased she was shaking. Her hands slipped on the counter. He caught her wrists. Held her steady.
“Fuck.” She breathed it into the dark. “That was…”
He stood. Lifted her off the counter. Carried her through the hallway. Her head on his shoulder. Her breath hot against his neck.
The bedroom was dark. He dropped her onto the bed. The mattress gave. She bounced once. Her skirt rode higher. Her legs were bare. Open.
He stripped his trousers. Pulled them down. His cock was hard. Thick. The head glistening.
She looked at it. Her eyes went wide. The same slightly stunned expression she wore every time. As if the week on the private jet to Seoul had not recalibrated her expectations at all.
“Every time.” She shook her head. “Every time I look at it I’m convinced it’s grown since the last time.”
“That’s not how biology works.”
“I’m an engineer.” She reached for him. Her hand closed around his shaft. Warm. Firm. “I know what I’m measuring.”
He pushed her back against the mattress. Her legs spread around him. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance. Wet. Hot.
He pushed. Slow. The first inch went in. Her pussy stretched around him. Tight.
“Ah... ” Her voice climbed. “Wait.”
He waited. Held still. The head inside her. Her inner walls clenched.
“More.” She breathed it. “Slow. Just… more.”
He gave her another inch. Then another. Each one made her gasp. Her hands found his shoulders. Gripped. Her nails dug in.
When he was fully inside her he held still. All the way to the root. Her pussy gripped him. Wet. Warm. Complete.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were dark. Full.
“Move,” she whispered.
He moved.
Slow at first. Ceremonial. Each thrust long. Out until the ridge of the head tugged at her opening. Then back in. Deep. His hips met hers with a gentle press.
Her breathing matched his strokes. In on the push. Out on the pull. Her pussy made a wet sound around him. Soft. Consistent.
He built it gradually. Each thrust came a fraction harder. Deeper. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Locked. Her hips rose to meet him.
The pace picked up. Not rushed. Steady. His hands gripped her waist. Thumbs pressed into the soft flesh above her hip bones. He could feel her heartbeat through his palms.
“I can’t…” Her voice was rough. “Please.”
He gave it to her harder. His cock drove into her with more force. The wet sound got louder. Her breasts jumped with each thrust. Her back arched.
She reached up. Pulled his mouth to hers. Kissed him hard. Her tongue pushed against his. Her teeth caught his lower lip. Bit.
He flipped her. One smooth motion. Her face pressed into the pillow. He gathered her hair at the nape. Pulled. Not gentle. Hard enough to make her arch.
His other hand gripped her hip. Hard enough to leave prints. He pulled her back onto his cock and slammed in.
She cried out. The sound went into the pillow. Muffled. Raw.
He fucked her like this was the last time. Deep. Hard. Each thrust bottomed out. His hips met her ass with a slap that echoed. Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. The slick sound filled the room.
“Your ass,” he said. Low. Rough. “Look at it.”
She looked back over her shoulder. Her hair was in his fist. Her eyes were wet. Her mouth open.
He spanked her. Once. Hard. His palm cracked against her ass. The sound sharp. Her pussy clenched around his cock.
“Again,” she gasped.
He spanked her again. Harder. Her ass reddened under his hand. She pushed back against him. Took his cock deeper.
He pulled her hair. Hard. Her back arched. Her voice broke.
“Fuck. Yes. Like that.”
His pace built. Relentless. His cock drove into her with the pent heat of the Chennai trip. The weight of the decision. Everything he hadn’t been able to say cleanly to anyone. He fucked it all into her. Deep. Hard. Complete.
Her arms gave out. She caught herself on her forearms. Face in the pillow. Breathing hard. Her ass took every thrust. Red. Marked. His.
He pulled out. Turned her. Flipped her onto her back. Her legs fell open. Her pussy was swollen. Wet. Red around the edges from the stretch.
He pushed back in. One hard stroke. Bottomed out. Her back arched off the mattress. She cried out. Her hands found his chest. Gripped.
“Look at me,” he said.
She looked. Eyes wet. Mouth open. Breathing through her teeth.
He fucked her like this. Face to face. Deep. His mouth found hers. His tongue pushed into her mouth. She tasted herself on him. Salt. Warm.
Her legs locked around his waist. Tight. Her hips rose to meet every thrust. Her pussy gripped him. Wet. Tight. Taking everything.
“I’m close,” she gasped. “Selvam. I’m so close.”
He reached between them. Found her clit with his thumb. Pressed. Circled. Fast.
She came hard. Her pussy clamped around his cock. Violent pulses. Her voice broke. His name. Over and over. Her nails dug into his back. Hard enough to mark.
He kept fucking her through it. Didn’t slow down. His cock drove into her through every pulse. Deep. Hard.
The pressure built low in his spine. His rhythm faltered. His breathing broke.
“Summer.” His voice was wrecked. “I’m going to... ”
“Inside.” She gripped his face. Both hands. “Come inside me. Now.”
He came deep. Pulse after pulse. Hot. His hips pressed her into the mattress. His mouth found her shoulder. Bit. Hard. His cock throbbed inside her. Filling her. Wet. Complete.
They lay there. Breathing. Wrecked. Sweat cooling on their skin. His cock was still inside her. Softening. Warm.
She turned her head. Put her cheek on his chest. Her hair spread across his skin. Warm. Damp.
His hand moved on her back. Slow circles. Between her shoulder blades. Down to the small of her back. Up again.
The ceiling above them. White. Plain. The Los Gatos night quiet outside the window.
After a while she spoke. Her voice was soft. Raw.
“Are you planning to stop sleeping with other women after the wedding?”
He was quiet. His hand kept moving on her back.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
She nodded against his chest. Once. Small.
“I probably won’t be fucking you once you’re married to Yazhini.” Her voice stayed level. “I have a line somewhere. A wedding ceremony is where it is.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t promise anything. His hand kept its slow circles on her back.
The question stayed open between them. The ceiling held it. The night held it. Neither of them spoke again for a long time.
# Scene 1
The villa door closed behind him. Los Gatos night. Cool air. The walk to Summer’s house took two minutes. Her red Porsche sat in the drive, hood still warm to the touch.
Selvam knocked.
The door swung open. Summer launched into his arms. Her legs hooked around his hips. Her mouth found his before he could speak.
“You’re back.” She kissed him again. “How was ISRO? Did they treat you like the rock star you are? Or is Indian bureaucracy just as bad as you said?”
“Worse.” His hands found her waist under the thin crop-top. “They gave the senior engineer’s chair to a politician who had never seen a launch vehicle.”
She grinned against his mouth. “You should run for office. Mr. Tony Stark of Tamil Nadu. The ladies would love that.”
Her fingers worked his shirt buttons. One. Two. Her breath was warm on his collarbone.
He caught her hands.
“I need to say something first.”
Summer went still. Her feet found the floor. She looked at his face. The grin faded.
“Okay.”
“It’s about Yazhini.”
“Krishnamoorthy’s daughter?” She half-laughed. “The nineteen-year-old?”
“Yes.”
The laugh held. Then collapsed. She watched his eyes. Her hands went loose in his grip.
“She took sleeping pills. Fifteen of them. Ranganayaki found her in time.”
Summer’s breath caught. Her fingers tightened.
“The hospital pumped her stomach. She told her parents everything. They pressed me at dinner. The astrologer’s chart came back a perfect ten. The wedding is in six weeks.”
“She’s nineteen.”
“I know.”
“Selvam.”
He didn’t fill the space.
“Vanitha argued against it. Then she changed her mind. Said we’re both responsible for the shape Yazhini’s feelings took. That the honest response is to let the marriage happen.”
Summer was quiet. The porch light hummed above them. Her dark blonde hair fell across one shoulder.
“I’m in love with you.” Her voice came clean. No performance. “I’ve been for a while. I was waiting for a moment that felt right to say it.”
Selvam pulled her into him. His chin rested at her temple. Her body was warm against his chest.
“I have feelings for you too.” His voice was low. “Real ones. Not the category I manage and set aside. The kind I named to myself on the drive back from Sacramento. I haven’t been able to categorize them cleanly since.”
Summer’s breath hitched. “Vanitha told you to go back.”
“Yes.”
Her face pressed against his chest. She cried. Quiet. No trying to stop it. His hands moved on her back. The thin crop-top rode up. Her nipples hardened against the fabric.
Her fingers found his shirt buttons again. Working them slowly. Between tears. Focused. Unhurried. The way she did everything she had decided to do properly.
He let her.
The shirt came off. Her palms spread across his chest. His stomach. Warm. She looked up at him.
“I love you.” Her voice broke. “I’m not sure I can share you the way marriage formalizes things. I’ve been fine with the sex. With the other women. Because none of it came with a ceremony. A thali. A priest chanting someone else’s name beside yours.”
“I understand the difference.”
“I’m not sure you do.” Her hands slid to his belt. “I’m also not sure I’m going to stop.”
She pulled him inside. The door closed behind them.
# Scene 2
Selvam pulled her thin top over her head to reveal her full breasts.
“Oh Summer, I always loved your breasts.” he groaned.
He kissed her, warm. Her tongue pressed against his. Her hands found his face. Held it. She tasted like mint and the faint sweet of something he couldn’t name.
He backed her against the foyer wall. His hands went to her waist. The thin top was cotton. He could feel the heat of her through it.
Her mouth curved. Left corner higher than the right. She pushed off the wall and took his hand. Pulled him deeper into the house. Her skirt whispered around her legs. The waist chain clicked faintly against her skin. Gold links. He hadn’t seen it until now.
The living room lamp was still on. She stood in its light and waited.
He pulled her thin top over her head in one slow motion. It caught on her arms. On her hair. He worked it free. Let it drop.
Her breasts were bare. Full. Heavy. The lamplight caught the pale undersides. Her nipples were already tight.
He cupped them in both palms. Held their weight. Warm. Soft. His thumbs brushed the nipples. Circles. Slow.
She inhaled. Sharp. Her eyes closed.
He took the right nipple into his mouth. Drew it slow. His tongue circled. Then sucked. Firm pressure.
“Selvam.” Her voice broke.
He worked it with his mouth. Pulled the whole breast against his face. One hand still cupping the left. His tongue flicked. Sucked. Held.
Her fingers threaded into his hair. Gripped.
He switched to the left. Same attention. His mouth closed over the nipple. His tongue worked the underside. Then the tip. He sucked until her grip tightened in his hair and her breathing went shallow.
The thought arrived without warning.
Summer’s breasts had the settled weight of a woman in her prime. Full. Soft. The way they rested in his palms was different. Yazhini’s were smaller. Higher. Not yet settled into their final shape.
He struck the thought. Shut it down. Put his mouth back on Summer’s left breast and sucked until the comparison dissolved into warmth and skin and the sound of her breathing.
She looked down at him. Her eyes were wet.
“Yazhini is so young.” Her voice came low. Rough. “I am genuinely glad for her. I’m glad for things I can’t have myself. A young woman who loves you that completely.” Her hand stroked his cheek. “She’ll keep you happy for a long time.”
He pulled back from her breast. Looked up.
“I’ve been managing to keep myself busy without assistance.”
She laughed. One sharp sound. It broke through the tears. The particular helplessness of someone who finds a person funny at exactly the wrong moment.
“Shut up.” She wiped her eye with the back of her hand. “That’s not what I meant.”
He bit her lower lip. Not gentle. His teeth closed on the full soft curve of it. Held. Then released.
Her breath caught.
His hands went to her hips. Found the waistband of her panties under the skirt. Slid them down. The fabric caught on the curve of her ass. He worked it free. Down her thighs. She stepped out of them. Left them on the floor.
He lifted her. One arm under her thighs. One behind her back. She weighed nothing. Her arms went around his neck. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Bare skin on his shirt.
The kitchen was cool. Dark. He set her on the counter edge. Cold stone against her bare ass. She flinched.
“Cold.”
“Good.”
He knelt between her thighs. Her skirt bunched at her waist. He pushed it higher. The lamplight from the living room reached partway. Enough.
He put his mouth on her pussy.
Wet. Warm. Her clit was already hard under his tongue. He pressed flat against it. Circled. Slow.
She gripped the counter edge. Both hands. White knuckles.
He worked her clit with the same focus he brought to mountain corridor timing constants. To the NASA negotiation room. Reading every shift in her breathing. Every twitch in her thighs. Adjusting pressure. Rhythm. The angle of his tongue.
“There.” Her voice was thin. “Right there.”
He stayed on it. Tongue flat. Then pointed. Then flat again. His hands held her thighs open. Thumbs pressing into the soft inner skin.
Her breathing changed. Sharp inhales. Shallow. Her hips started to move. Small shifts against his mouth.
“I’m close.” She gripped the counter harder. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t stop. His tongue worked her clit with steady pressure. Circling. Then a fast flick over the hood. Then back to steady.
She came hard. Her back arched. Her voice carried into the open kitchen. Loud. Unguarded. Her thighs clamped around his head. He kept his mouth on her through every pulse. Felt her clit throb against his tongue. Hard. Rapid.
When it eased she was shaking. Her hands slipped on the counter. He caught her wrists. Held her steady.
“Fuck.” She breathed it into the dark. “That was…”
He stood. Lifted her off the counter. Carried her through the hallway. Her head on his shoulder. Her breath hot against his neck.
The bedroom was dark. He dropped her onto the bed. The mattress gave. She bounced once. Her skirt rode higher. Her legs were bare. Open.
He stripped his trousers. Pulled them down. His cock was hard. Thick. The head glistening.
She looked at it. Her eyes went wide. The same slightly stunned expression she wore every time. As if the week on the private jet to Seoul had not recalibrated her expectations at all.
“Every time.” She shook her head. “Every time I look at it I’m convinced it’s grown since the last time.”
“That’s not how biology works.”
“I’m an engineer.” She reached for him. Her hand closed around his shaft. Warm. Firm. “I know what I’m measuring.”
He pushed her back against the mattress. Her legs spread around him. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance. Wet. Hot.
He pushed. Slow. The first inch went in. Her pussy stretched around him. Tight.
“Ah... ” Her voice climbed. “Wait.”
He waited. Held still. The head inside her. Her inner walls clenched.
“More.” She breathed it. “Slow. Just… more.”
He gave her another inch. Then another. Each one made her gasp. Her hands found his shoulders. Gripped. Her nails dug in.
When he was fully inside her he held still. All the way to the root. Her pussy gripped him. Wet. Warm. Complete.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were dark. Full.
“Move,” she whispered.
He moved.
Slow at first. Ceremonial. Each thrust long. Out until the ridge of the head tugged at her opening. Then back in. Deep. His hips met hers with a gentle press.
Her breathing matched his strokes. In on the push. Out on the pull. Her pussy made a wet sound around him. Soft. Consistent.
He built it gradually. Each thrust came a fraction harder. Deeper. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Locked. Her hips rose to meet him.
The pace picked up. Not rushed. Steady. His hands gripped her waist. Thumbs pressed into the soft flesh above her hip bones. He could feel her heartbeat through his palms.
“I can’t…” Her voice was rough. “Please.”
He gave it to her harder. His cock drove into her with more force. The wet sound got louder. Her breasts jumped with each thrust. Her back arched.
She reached up. Pulled his mouth to hers. Kissed him hard. Her tongue pushed against his. Her teeth caught his lower lip. Bit.
He flipped her. One smooth motion. Her face pressed into the pillow. He gathered her hair at the nape. Pulled. Not gentle. Hard enough to make her arch.
His other hand gripped her hip. Hard enough to leave prints. He pulled her back onto his cock and slammed in.
She cried out. The sound went into the pillow. Muffled. Raw.
He fucked her like this was the last time. Deep. Hard. Each thrust bottomed out. His hips met her ass with a slap that echoed. Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. The slick sound filled the room.
“Your ass,” he said. Low. Rough. “Look at it.”
She looked back over her shoulder. Her hair was in his fist. Her eyes were wet. Her mouth open.
He spanked her. Once. Hard. His palm cracked against her ass. The sound sharp. Her pussy clenched around his cock.
“Again,” she gasped.
He spanked her again. Harder. Her ass reddened under his hand. She pushed back against him. Took his cock deeper.
He pulled her hair. Hard. Her back arched. Her voice broke.
“Fuck. Yes. Like that.”
His pace built. Relentless. His cock drove into her with the pent heat of the Chennai trip. The weight of the decision. Everything he hadn’t been able to say cleanly to anyone. He fucked it all into her. Deep. Hard. Complete.
Her arms gave out. She caught herself on her forearms. Face in the pillow. Breathing hard. Her ass took every thrust. Red. Marked. His.
He pulled out. Turned her. Flipped her onto her back. Her legs fell open. Her pussy was swollen. Wet. Red around the edges from the stretch.
He pushed back in. One hard stroke. Bottomed out. Her back arched off the mattress. She cried out. Her hands found his chest. Gripped.
“Look at me,” he said.
She looked. Eyes wet. Mouth open. Breathing through her teeth.
He fucked her like this. Face to face. Deep. His mouth found hers. His tongue pushed into her mouth. She tasted herself on him. Salt. Warm.
Her legs locked around his waist. Tight. Her hips rose to meet every thrust. Her pussy gripped him. Wet. Tight. Taking everything.
“I’m close,” she gasped. “Selvam. I’m so close.”
He reached between them. Found her clit with his thumb. Pressed. Circled. Fast.
She came hard. Her pussy clamped around his cock. Violent pulses. Her voice broke. His name. Over and over. Her nails dug into his back. Hard enough to mark.
He kept fucking her through it. Didn’t slow down. His cock drove into her through every pulse. Deep. Hard.
The pressure built low in his spine. His rhythm faltered. His breathing broke.
“Summer.” His voice was wrecked. “I’m going to... ”
“Inside.” She gripped his face. Both hands. “Come inside me. Now.”
He came deep. Pulse after pulse. Hot. His hips pressed her into the mattress. His mouth found her shoulder. Bit. Hard. His cock throbbed inside her. Filling her. Wet. Complete.
They lay there. Breathing. Wrecked. Sweat cooling on their skin. His cock was still inside her. Softening. Warm.
She turned her head. Put her cheek on his chest. Her hair spread across his skin. Warm. Damp.
His hand moved on her back. Slow circles. Between her shoulder blades. Down to the small of her back. Up again.
The ceiling above them. White. Plain. The Los Gatos night quiet outside the window.
After a while she spoke. Her voice was soft. Raw.
“Are you planning to stop sleeping with other women after the wedding?”
He was quiet. His hand kept moving on her back.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
She nodded against his chest. Once. Small.
“I probably won’t be fucking you once you’re married to Yazhini.” Her voice stayed level. “I have a line somewhere. A wedding ceremony is where it is.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t promise anything. His hand kept its slow circles on her back.
The question stayed open between them. The ceiling held it. The night held it. Neither of them spoke again for a long time.
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