No project manager was given yet. Felicia was on standby, waiting for the interrogation to give a name, while Felix headed out. It had to be as synchronized as possible. They needed to give SHIELD as little time as possible to realize anything was going.
The bar sat two streets off the Norfolk waterfront, tucked between a pawn shop and a closed-down travel agency with sun-faded posters still taped to the window. Inside, it smelled like old wood, salt air, and spilled beer, comfortable in a way that suggested no one here asked questions as long as you paid your tab.
Which was exactly why Sharon Carter chose it. Which was why Felix stationed himself here. Who knows when she'd move? She was on vacation. She could go anywhere. He had to be ready to follow.
Sharon Carter sat at the same spot she'd claimed for the past two nights: third stool from the end, back to the wall, eyes on the door without looking like she was watching it. Civilian brown jacket, black shirt, blue jeans, and boots. Blonde hair loose tonight, not pulled back. A glass of bourbon rested untouched in front of her. She wasn't a great beauty. She was no Mary Jane Watson. She didn't stun. She was somewhat rugged with baggy eyes and a nice toned ass in those blue jeans. Upon first glance, she looked like a hard-headed woman from the south, when she was furthest from that.
Felix paused just inside, letting his gaze sweep the room before settling on her.
'Peggy Carter very much did not care for her family,' he thought. 'But she also couldn't deny that Sharon existed and wanted to join SHIELD.' Peggy Carter's death had loosened the leash, just a little. Enough for Sharon to "take leave." Enough for Felix to find her.
Felix walked over, easy smile already in place.
"Thought you'd ditched me," he said, sliding onto the stool beside her.
Sharon glanced at him sideways. "You say that every night, Steven."
Steven was the false name he was using here, and "Steven" wasn't like other men in the sense that he wasn't cocky nor did he have any intention to sleep with her. Well, okay, he did. Obviously. But like…he did it courteously. He did without trying. His acting skills were polished to the point that it could convince even a spy like her. Specifically, that the chemistry between them was natural.
"And every night you're still here."
She huffed a quiet laugh and finally lifted her glass. "Guess I'm a creature of habit."
Indeed. What most surprised him was that she was using the name "Sharon" and not an alias. Psychologically, it probably meant she wanted to be Sharon for today. That she wanted to be seen as Sharon and not an agent.
Well…unfortunately for her, the man Steven was only acting like he cared about Sharon. Indeed, he needed the agent inside her. He needed the information of the other side of her. Sharon was simply…a means to an end.
Felix signaled the bartender. "Same as yesterday."
Sharon arched a brow. "Careful. You're going to convince me you actually like me."
"Dangerous assumption," he said lightly. "I might just like your taste in whiskey."
"Liar."
Their drinks arrived. Felix took a sip, then leaned back, letting his shoulder brush hers just enough to be noticed. Sharon didn't move away.
Two days. Two days of nothing but small talk and half-truths. He knew her cover story by heart now: consultant work, logistics, helping relocate people after "government restructures." It was plausible and carefully boring.
Then again, so was "Steven". She knew his too. Research contractor with an engineering background. In town for port inspections and infrastructure planning.
They both knew the other was lying. Neither had called it out.
"You look tired tonight," Felix said.
Sharon's smile thinned. "Funny. I was going to say the same about you."
"Guess we're bonding."
She studied him for a moment longer than necessary. She smiled. Sharon seemed to like him.
The bar noise swelled around them: laughter, clinking glasses, a game murmuring on a TV no one was really watching. Felix felt the familiar tug of unease—this was the dangerous part. Not the lies. The moments where they almost stopped pretending.
"You ever get tired of running?" he asked.
Sharon turned her glass slowly on the bar. "I get tired of standing still."
He nodded. "Fair."
She finished her drink in one go, then set the glass down with a decisive clink. "You know," she said, voice casual, "I've spent the last few nights talking instead of sleeping. Probably not healthy."
Felix met her eyes. "What are you suggesting?"
A corner of her mouth lifted. "My hotel's closer than wherever you live, I bet. And I don't really feel like being alone tonight."
There it was. Needy, but not weak. Sad, but not broken. Felix felt it then, that quiet certainty that Sharon Carter knew he wasn't just some engineer killing time in a port city. She didn't know what he was, but she knew enough not to care.
He suspected he'd see the two SHIELD agents assigned to her outside. But what could they do? Stop her from sleeping with someone while on vacation? They would only be able to watch.
"Lead the way," he said, standing.
She slipped off her stool, brushing past him deliberately this time. "Don't make me regret that."
He smiled to himself as he followed her out into the cool Norfolk night, the neon sign buzzing overhead. He saw an older man lighting up a smoke. Felix identified that man as a SHIELD agent. All he could do was observe Sharon and Felix going to the hotel. It would be silly to stop her from, well, being human.
(**R18 Start**)
The hotel room door clicked shut, and Sharon didn't even wait for the deadbolt to slide home. She turned, her back hitting the wood, and dragged Felix's mouth to hers.
No more talking.
Her kiss was hot, demanding, all tongue and teeth and desperate suction. Her hands scrabbled at his shirt, yanking it free from his trousers. His own hands were on her, one cupping the back of her head, the other sliding under her jacket to find the soft heat of her waist.
His cock reacted accordingly. Interrogation or not, pill or not, he was a man.
Sharon felt it and answered by grinding her hips against his, the rough denim of their jeans a maddening barrier. Her hand slid down, palm flat against his stomach, then lower, lower, until her fingers found the hard, thick line of his cock straining against his zipper.
"Jesus, Steven," she breathed, breaking the kiss to pant against his neck. "What IS this thing?"
Her fingers worked his belt buckle open with a sharp clink, then the button of his pants. The zipper came down with a slow, agonizing zzzip. She shoved her hand inside, past the waistband of his boxers, and her warm fingers wrapped around him.
"Sharon…!"
She squeezed, her thumb sliding over the slick head already beading with pre-cum. Fuck, he was hard. Solid and hot and huge in her hand.
Sharon Carter dropped to her knees right there in the entryway.
The cool air of the room hit his exposed skin as she yanked his pants and boxers down to his thighs. His cock sprang free.
"Mmmph?!"
And slapped her right across the cheek. The thwack was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Sharon froze, her eyes wide. She stared at it, this monster of a cock, thick and veiny and curving upward, the angry red head glistening. It bobbed heavily in the space between them, right in her face.
A soft, incredulous "oh" escaped her lips.
She licked them, her gaze never leaving it. A flush spread from her neck up to her cheeks. She saw the thick vein pulsing along the underside. She saw the way it seemed to twitch, as if demanding her attention.
Sharon smirked, despite the wild, almost helpless look flashing in her eyes.
"Fuck it," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
In one frantic motion, she shoved her own jeans and panties down her legs, kicking them off into a tangled pile. She rose up on her knees, her bare pussy already wet and gleaming for him in the light. She still wore her shirt and open jacket, the blonde hair a messy curtain around her flushed face.
She didn't bother with the tricks. This was a messy hook-up with a big dick stud, nothing more. She just positioned the broad, slick head of his cock right at her entrance, took a deep, shuddering breath, and sank down.
Oh, fuck.
The first inch was a stretch, a burning, delicious fullness that made her eyes roll back. Her inner walls clenched, trying to accommodate him, as she forced herself down another inch.
"Fuh…fuck," she whimpered, her nails digging into his thighs.
He watched, mesmerized, as she took him, inch by agonizing inch. He could feel every ridge, every tight, clutching fold of her pussy yielding to him. It was a slow, wet, squelching slide, a symphony of tight heat and surrender. Sharon and her blonde hair fell back, a string of broken gasps falling from her lips.
"Mmmph…ah!"
When he was finally buried to the hilt, when their bodies were flush and she was so full she could barely breathe, she went still. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She was panting, her entire body trembling around him.
Felix's voice was shredded with need. "Sharon. Look at me."
Her lashes fluttered open. Her blue eyes were glassy, dazed.
"I'm going to fucking ruin you," he said, throbbing in her cunt. He was so fucking big, she immediately gasped upon his declaration. I'm going to take this perfect, tight little pussy and fuck you until you can't remember your own name. Is that what you want? You want me to just rail you senseless?"
Sharon Carter was Agent 13. She was a master in martial arts. She was important and dignified and—
"Yes. Please. Fuck me, Steven. Just fuck me."
She nodded frantically, her lips parted. Her legs lifted up and wrapped around his waist, his cock still buried impossibly deep inside her. He thrust.
"Mmmpph~!"
He thrust again. Sharon gasped. He thrust and thrust and thrust, and carried her the twenty-something steps to the couch and laid her down on the worn cushions. Every step, a thrust. Every thrust—
"Nggghhh~!"
So by the time he put her down, she was already gasping. She was vulnerable. "S-Steven…!" she called out in a whimper. "W-wait…!"
He just adjusted his angle, braced his arms on either side of her head, and thrust."
"Oh, god—cummin—"
She came, yep, and it was only the beginning. It was only the start of something great. It was a hard, deep, pounding rhythm right from the start. No gentle build-up. No sweet lovemaking. This was a fuck. Each thrust drove the air from her lungs in a sharp "uh!" Each withdrawal was a wet, sucking schlorp before he slammed back in, smacking their hips together.
Thrust. Schlorp. Smack.
"Uh! Uhhhh! Nggghh!
Thrust. Schlorp. Smack.
"Ah! Ah, ah, ahh!! C-cummiiing!"
Sharon Carter had trained herself to hold back. To bit back pain. She thought she could do the same for pain. But no, it was impossible, it just was. Felix was different.
"You feel that?" he grunted, his face above hers, sweat already beading on his brow. "You feel how deep I am? I'm in your fucking guts, Sharon."
"I feel it!" Sharon cried out, her back arching. Her hands flew to his shoulders, clinging for dear life. "I feel everything! Don't stop! Fuck!"
He pistoned into her, the couch creaking in protest beneath them. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, a rapid, wet slap-slap-slap-slap. Her whimpers and gasps became a continuous, breathless soundtrack.
"Ah-ah-ah-ah-oh—god-oh-fuck!"
Felix shifted, driving in at a new angle, and her eyes blew wide. "There! Right there! Fuck me right there, Steven, please! I-I feel like cumming again! I will! I will!"
He hammered that spot, over and over, watching her come completely undone. "C-CUMMI—" She slapped a hand over her mouth. She didn't want to humiliate herself to THAT degree. She just took it in muffled moans. Her heels dug into the small of his back, urging him deeper, harder. Her pussy was a slick, clenching pocket, milking his cock with every brutal thrust.
"You gonna come for me? You gonna scream on this fucking cock?"
"Yes! Yes, I'm gonna—ah!—I'm gonna…"
Looking down at her, her boobs jiggled. They were B-cups. But…the black shirt was still on. The boobs were jiggling under cloth. Smiling, he tugged on her shirt and she understood. He helped to lift her shirt up. Her arms stretched and he smoothly pulled it off.
Now he could see all of Sharon Carter. Her pink nipples, her navel, the scar running under her armpit, everything.
Nothing about her was remotely outstanding. She wasn't a goddess out of Earth, she was a normal woman that was also a spy. Yet this spy broke. Sharon Carter dissolved into a high, keening wail as her orgasm ripped through her. Her cunt was frantic and pulsing madly. To Felix though?
'Looks like it's going well.'
He smiled to himself. Her blue eyes had always been so guarded. But not tonight. Tonight, he and SHIELD agents listening in the room under them knew she was enjoying herself.
"Cmmmppphh~!"
Muffled. Oh yes, she was muffling herself. But there was no denying the love in her tone of voice. Sharon shook beneath him, her mouth open in a silent scream, her vision whiting out.
Soon, as expected, the intense clenching of her climax was pushing to cum.
"Sharon… fuck… where do you want it?" he gritted out. "Can I come inside that perfect, used-up pussy? Huh? Fill you up?"
Through the haze, gasping for air, she managed to shake her head. "No…! No! Out, pull out…!"
Fuck, well, cumming inside her wasn't in the mission parameters. He dragged his cock from her sopping wet depths with a loud, wet splurtch.
He aimed his pulsing cock at her stomach.
The first thick, hot rope of cum splashed across her lower belly with a splat. The second shot higher, streaking across her still-covered breasts, soaking through the thin fabric of her shirt. The third, a powerful, arching splurt, landed on her collarbone, then her neck, then her chin.
His cumshots were superhumans, because they were. But why would Sharon think otherwise? Clearly, she wasn't very experienced and right now…
"G-good…"
She was smiling. Sharon even reached out to jerk out the last ropes of cum from him. Sharon Carter, like any human, liked being wanted. Liked having this man unload on her. It was simply fun. It was simply a hook-up.
"Haah…I, ah, hope you can go again," Sharon said.
His cock spat one last bit of cum. She smirked. "I'll take that as a yes…"
After cleaning herself, their positions were reversed. Felix was laying down while the nude Sharon was on top. She wanted to ride him. Licking her lips. Sharon lowered herself, the broad head of his cock pressing against her folds. She was tight, so fucking tight, and he was so fucking big.
She sank down an inch, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat. "Nnngh!"
"Easy," Felix said, smiling.
"I've got it," Sharon hissed, her eyes squeezed shut. She took another inch, the stretch a burning, exquisite pressure. A wet, sticky schlllp sound echoed as her body slowly, reluctantly, gave way.
Inch by aching inch. He could feel every ridge, every pulse of her inner muscles trying to accommodate him. Her pussy was a hot, slick, velvet fist, clenching and unclenching around the invading girth. She gasped upon a certain point and keeled over. She was panting, little huh-huh-huh breaths puffing against his neck.
Finally, with a final, shuddering cry, Sharon seated herself fully, his pelvis grinding against her clit. He was buried to the hilt. She was so full she could feel, she instantly orgasmed. "Oh nnggghh! T-this diiick…!" Her head dropped to his shoulder, her whole body trembling.
She was trying, she was. Sharon was trying to be who she was, a strong independent woman. A spy that did her job to excellence.
"Fuck, Sharon," he rasped. "You're so fucking tight…"
She whimpered, a high, needy sound. The initial shock was melting into a deep, throbbing ache of pleasure. It was just…
"S-so deep…so good…"
He turned his head, his lips at her ear. "Can I just fuck you, Sharon? No more thinking. No more talking. Can I just rail you senseless?" He groped her ass cheeks. They were toned. Oh so toned, almost like an Olympian in gymnastics. They were amazing in jeans and better when bare. They jiggled only when slapped.
He didn't slap them yet. He had to earn her trust.
Sharon's pride told her to deny him. To take control.
But her pussy said otherwise, to let his cock throb as much as it wanted. And her heart? That was the only response. Her heart wanted this too. These masculine hands groping her ass cheeks softly and with reverence. Felix wasn't like other guys. He just wasn't. He was polite and hung and…without realizing it, she nodded against his shoulder, a frantic, desperate little motion. "Yes. Please. Just…fuck me. Fuck me stupid."
He smirked. He smacked her ass, earning a gasp, and then Felix pulled back almost all the way, until just the tip remained, then slammed back in with a brutal, driving force. CLAP—! The couch groaned.
"Oh GOD!" Sharon cried out, her back arching. She was still on top of him, but there was no longer any control.
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, a rhythmic smack-smack-smack punctuated by her choked-off gasps and whimpers.
"Oh fuck, oh god—" She tried to muffle herself again. Felix removed a hand from her left ass cheek and stopped that wrist. "S-Steven! Steveeeen! Oh fuck, oh gooooddd~!! T-this dick of yours, it's too good! I shouldn't—"
"You should," he grunted, driving into her. "Have fun. Be yourself, you fucking gorgeous slut."
Sharon Carter was lost in it. Her hands scrabbled at his thighs, her back arched. Her head thrashed side to side. Every thrust sent a jolt of pure, electric pleasure straight to her core. Her pussy was a sopping mess, gushing around his pistoning cock with every withdrawal, a lewd squelch-squish singing its wet song.
"Steven… fuck… right there… mmmmph!" Her words dissolved into a muffled groan as she bit her own lip, trying to stay quiet. "Steeeven! Steven! Oh godddd! It's sooo good! It's all I can—"
He leaned up, capturing a nipple with his teeth, biting down gently. She gasped louder, no longer muffled.
"You like that?" he growled. He then ran a hand up to her other tit. He simply groped the B-cups. They were rather small, but so what? They made her gasp in wonder and awe. They made Sharon Carter loved.
"You love getting stuffed full of cock?" His lips left her nipples. He hugged her deeply, her boobs pressed to his chest. "Your hot little cunt is sucking me in, Sharon. It's begging for it!"
"Yes! Fuck, yes, don't stop!"
He fucked her harder, faster. The world narrowed to this: the smell of sex and sweat, the sound of flesh on flesh, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly filled, utterly used, utterly felt. It was a brutal, perfect escape. No past, no future. Just this cock, and this feeling, and the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter in her gut.
Sharon Carter…
"I'm… I'm gonna… I'm cumming!"
Never had she experienced a night like this. Sex like this. It was unbelievable.
Her pussy clamped down on him in a series of violent, fluttering spasms. Gush! He could feel her release, hot and slick, flooding around his shaft. He kept pounding through it, adding to her ecstasy, riding the waves of her clenching cunt. He was close. So fucking close.
"Sharon," he gasped, his rhythm faltering. "I need to come. Can I come inside you? Fill that perfect pussy up?"
Through the haze of her own climax, she managed to shake her head, a sharp, frantic motion. "No! No, pull out."
With a guttural groan of effort, he wrenched himself free just as the first pulse hit.
Splurt.
A thick, hot rope of cum shot across her stomach, painting a white stripe across her shirt. Sharon fell over and his cock was trapped between her stomach and his abdomen. He didn't mind. He just kept cumming pointlessly.
…
…
…
Sharon was out cold, sprawled face-down on the plush sofa in her living room. One arm dangled over the side, her blonde hair a damp tangle across a cushion. She was naked, a thin sheen of sweat and water still glistening on the smooth curve of her back, the perfect, rounded swell of her ass. Her breathing was deep and even.
Felix glanced over his shoulder. He was near the corner of the the kitchen, drinking a glass of water. A slow, satisfied smile touched his lips. He'd fucked her senseless. Again. In the shower, then against the bedroom wall, then finally here on this couch until her moans had dissolved into exhausted whimpers and she'd simply passed out mid-kiss. Mission fucking accomplished.
His schlong was completely soft now. He padded naked and quiet across the room to the kitchenette to refill his glass of water. He was halfway through the glass when the knock came.
Knock. Knock-knock.
Sharon didn't even twitch. A soft, sleepy mrrph sound escaped her lips as she nuzzled deeper into the cushion.
Herbie already confirmed who it was.
Felix's smile widened. He set the glass down. 'Let's see who's checking up on the grieving agent,' he thought. It was obvious who.
He walked to the door, his cock swinging heavily between his thighs, completely flaccid. The knock came again, more insistent.
With a deliberately confused frown he didn't feel, he opened the door.
The hallway air was cooler. It hit his skin, and it hit the two people standing there.
An older man, late fifties, with a weary, bureaucratic face and a cheap suit. And a woman, Asian, middle-aged, with sharp, intelligent eyes and an expression of pure, unflappable calm. Melinda May. Felix's internal file on SHIELD personnel flickered.
'Pilot. Cavalry. Legend. Thank you, Herbie.'
Their eyes did the predictable thing. They went to his face, registering a stranger. Then, inevitably, they dipped down.
The old man's jaw went slack. His eyes bugged. A soft, choked "Guh…" escaped him.
Melinda May's composure didn't crack, not exactly. But her eyebrows climbed a full inch up her forehead. Her gaze, laser-focused and assessing, swept from Felix's face, down his torso, and came to a full, arrested halt at his groin.
Because there was no ignoring it.
Even completely soft, drained from fucking Sharon three times in as many hours, Felix was equipped. His cock hung long and thick, a heavy weight of flesh against his thigh, the head nestled in a thatch of dark hair. It was the sheer, vulgar presence of it. And below, his balls—fuck—his balls were a pronounced, heavy sack, full and prominent, swinging slightly with any and all movement.
Was it cocky to say this was the best way to fan away suspicion? To make them think he wasn't a spy? A little.
The silence in the hallway was absolute, broken only by the faint hum of a vending machine down the hall.
"Ah, sorry, just, uh, got done." Felix leaned against the doorframe, making no move to cover himself. "Can I help you?"
The old agent—Jackson, he had learned while monitoring on the very first day of this operation—blinked rapidly, his eyes snapping back up to Felix's face with visible effort. He cleared his throat. "We're, uh. Neighbors. From downstairs."
"Right," Felix said, his tone flat.
"There was… noise," Jackson continued, his voice strained. "Last night. And this morning. Quite a bit of… commotion."
"Mm," Felix hummed, noncommittal. He glanced over his shoulder at Sharon's unconscious form on the couch. "Sorry about that. Guess she's usually a heavy sleeper otherwise?"
May's eyes flickered past him, taking in the scene: the naked woman, the discarded towel, the general disarray. Her gaze returned to Felix's face, her own a mask of polite, icy inquiry. "We were concerned for her well-being. It was… persistent."
"She's fine," Felix said, a slow, easy grin spreading across his face. He hooked a thumb towards his own naked body. "Just worn out."
Jackson's eyes betrayed him again, darting down for a split second before he forced them back up. A faint pink tinge crept up his neck. He was a professional, a veteran of weird, but this… this was a new level of awkward intel gathering. "I see. Well. As long as she's… unharmed."
"Oh, she's far from harmed," Felix said, the grin turning wolfish. "Trust me."
"Uh, your name if I may? Just in case?"
"Steven."
May finally spoke, her voice cool and clipped. "We'll leave you to it then, Steven. Please try to keep the… exuberance… to a minimum after ten PM."
"I'll see what I can do," Felix said. "But she's pretty insatiable." He gave them a final, dismissive nod and began to close the door. "Have a good one."
The last thing he saw before the latch clicked was Jackson's utterly bewildered expression and May's thick swallow.
The door shut with a soft click.
In the hallway, Jackson let out a long, slow breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He turned to May. "Well. That was…"
"Informative," May finished, already turning towards the stairwell. "Jesus," she ended up muttering, because even she couldn't hide it.
"He's… I mean, did you see that?" Coulson hissed, falling into step beside her. "This new generation…Jesus Christ. Sorry to use your name in vain but…Jesus Christ."
"Mhm. At least we can be glad that it was indeed a hook-up," May said, her tone deadpan.
"But the timing, with Carter's death, her going dark—"
"She's not dark. She's on her back," May interrupted, pushing open the stairwell door. "Or her front. Or over the couch. Grieving takes many forms. That," she said, with finality, "is the form of a woman who decided to forget her troubles with the first spectacular dick she could find. No enemy op is that dedicated to cover."
Jackson scrubbed a hand over his face as they descended. "I need to file a report. How do I even… phrase that?"
"'Subject appears uncompromised. Civilian male companion presents no observable threat. Situation is interpersonal.' Leave it at that."
"Interpersonal," Jackson repeated. The image of Felix, lean and casually nude in the doorway, was burned into his retinas. "Right. Christ—forgive me for using your name in vein again—but this job does not get any easier, does it?"
"It doesn't," Mary murmured.
Back in the apartment, Felix leaned against the closed door, listening to their retreating footsteps. He had heard everything obviously. Super senses, whoopty-doo. He pushed off the door and walked back to the couch.
Sharon hadn't moved. The gentle rise and fall of her back was peaceful. The sight of her, so utterly vulnerable and fucked-out, sent a fresh, low thrum of desire through him. It started as a twitch, a faint stirring between his legs.
He knelt beside the couch, not touching her yet. Just looking. He reached out and traced a single finger down the deep groove of her spine, over the perfect, tight curve of her ass.
She stirred. A soft, sleepy moan. "Steven…?"
"Go back to sleep," he murmured.
But his finger kept tracing. Down the crease of her ass, a light, teasing touch. He saw the goosebumps rise on her skin. His own cock, which had begun to thicken and swell at the mere sight of her, now gave a heavy, unmistakable throb. It was filling again, the blood rushing back with a vengeance, drawn by the memory of how she felt, how she sounded.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "They're gone," he whispered. "The neighbors. Came to complain about the noise you make."
Sharon's eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep and satisfaction. A slow, lazy smile spread across her face. She shifted, rolling onto her back, letting him see the full, glorious front of her—the swell of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the thatch of blonde curls between her thighs, still glistening faintly from him. Her eyes traveled down his body, and her smile turned sharp, hungry.
"See something you like?" Sharon purred, her voice sleep-raspy.
Felix looked down at himself. His cock was already half-hard, a thick, impressive length curving up from its nest of dark hair. His balls, heavy and full, had drawn up tight. "You tell me."
She reached out, her fingers wrapping around his shaft. Squeeze~! He hissed in a breath. She was barely touching him, but his cock jumped in her hand, thickening further, the skin growing taut and hot.
"I think," Sharon said, her thumb swiping over the leaking slit, spreading the bead of pre-cum, "your neighbors are liars. I'm not loud." She pulled him closer by his cock, a claiming, dominant tug that belied her sprawled, submissive posture. "You just make me feel so fucking good I can't help it."
He was fully hard now, a rigid, veined pillar in her grip. "Prove it," he growled, climbing onto the couch, knees bracketing her hips.
She guided him to her entrance, still slick and swollen from their earlier fucking. "Make me scream, then," she challenged, her eyes gleaming.