Hers was the only watch the flaps closed for. She had asked for it that way, once, months ago.
'Dark in here for me is the same as out there,' she had told him. 'But I want the sounds only for me.'
He stood her on her knees and taught her mouth patience.
Slow, the way she liked. He fed her the head of his cock and stopped, and let her tongue do the learning, wet heat and held breath and the small unhurried sounds of a woman listening with her whole throat. Her hands stayed folded in her lap by her own discipline. She measured him by echo and texture, the deep groan vibrating through his flesh when she found something good, and she catalogued each one.
"Mmh... mm... slrrp..." A pause, her cheek nuzzling along the length of it like reading scripture. "You're tired tonight, my lord. It's in your thighs."
"Is it."
"Every watch you've had, I've heard the difference." She took him deep, unhurried, and hummed around him like a struck bell. "Hmmm... mmm... mmh..."
