The hallway on the first floor smelled of warmed wood and beeswax. The floorboards creaked under my steps, each groan amplified by the silence that had finally settled over the sleeping inn. My hand was still clutching the edge of my notebook when I stopped in front of the door marked with a 7 painted in peeling white.
I lingered there one second too long. Not out of hesitation — out of calculation. One last mental check: did I really need this? Would it change anything in the plan? The answer was no, and that was precisely why I had come up.
I knocked three times. Sharp. Not loud. Just enough for her to hear.
A rustle of fabric on the other side. Bare feet on the floorboards. Then the door opened without a sound.
Lirenne stood there, lit only by the candle she had placed on the dresser behind her. She had slipped into a very thin linen nightshirt — almost a veil. The light passed through the fabric effortlessly, revealing everything she wasn't truly trying to hide. Her heavy, high breasts, free beneath the cloth, dark nipples clearly outlined. The soft curve of her belly descending toward the dark triangle between her thighs. Wide hips, full and firm thighs, slightly parted in a natural stance, without posing. She wore nothing underneath. Nothing at all.
She looked me straight in the eyes, a half-smile at the corner of her lips, as if she knew exactly what I was seeing and what it was doing to me.
"You took your time," she said softly.
"I was counting the steps."
She laughed — a low sound, almost a purr — and stepped back to let me in.
The room was small, warm, steeped in her scent: saddle leather, clean road sweat, and something sweeter, like warmed honey. The narrow bed was rumpled on one side only. A basin of still-steaming water sat near the half-open window. She closed the door behind me with a flick of her heel, without turning around.
I set my notebook on the edge of the dresser. She approached slowly, barefoot. The nightshirt slipped off her left shoulder as she raised her hand to touch my cheek — a light, almost curious contact.
"You're trembling a little," she murmured.
"It's the cold air in the hallway."
"Liar."
Her fingers slid down along my jaw, then my throat, then to the first button of my shirt. She didn't undo it right away. She stroked it with her thumb, as if testing the texture of the fabric — or my patience.
I raised my hands and placed them on her hips. The linen was so thin I could feel the heat of her skin through it. My thumbs slipped inward, finding the soft curve just above her hip bones. She drew in a sharper breath, but didn't move.
Then she grasped the hem of her nightshirt and lifted it in one fluid motion. The fabric rose over her thighs, revealed her belly, then her breasts, then passed over her head. She let it fall to the floor like a useless rag.
Naked.
Completely naked in front of me, without a gesture to cover herself, without a word to break the silence. Her skin glowed faintly in the candlelight — uneven tan, harness marks on her shoulders, a thin silver scar running across her right hip. Her breasts were heavier than the fabric had suggested; they moved with every breath. Her dark nipples, hardened by the draft or by arousal, or both. Her sex was dark, already slightly parted, glistening with wetness in the dim light.
I felt my pulse pounding in my temples, in my throat, and lower still.
She took one step forward. Our bodies touched before our mouths did — the tips of her breasts against my shirt, her belly against mine, the warm wetness between her thighs brushing my leg as she slid it between them.
Then she kissed me.
Not gently. Not shyly.
Her mouth opened on mine as if she wanted to devour me. Hot, insistent tongue finding mine without waiting for permission. Her hands rose into my hair, tugged lightly to tilt my head, to deepen it even more. I answered with the same hunger — my fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, pressing her against me until she could feel exactly what she was doing to me.
She moaned into my mouth, a rough, almost surprised sound. Her hips rolled once, twice, rubbing her sex against my thigh with deliberate slowness. I could feel her wetness soaking through the fabric of my trousers. My hands slid down, gripped her ass, parted it slightly, squeezed to lift her onto her tiptoes.
She broke the kiss just enough to whisper against my lips:
"Take this off."
She tugged at my shirt. I let her. The buttons nearly popped. Then it was my turn — my hands on her breasts, thumbs circling the hardened tips, then pinching them gently, just enough to make her arch and gasp against my mouth.
We kissed again. Long. Deep. Tongues tangled, breaths mingling, teeth grazing without truly biting. Her nails raked my back. My fingers slipped between her thighs, found her swollen clit, stroked it in slow circles while she arched and moaned into my mouth.
She was already trembling.
So was I.
The candle sputtered on the dresser. Outside, the wind rattled a shutter somewhere. But in that tiny room, there was nothing left but our bodies, our mouths, our hands, and that electric tension rising, rising, until it was almost painful.
She stepped back half a pace, breathless, lips swollen, eyes shining.
"Lie down," she said.
I lay down on the narrow bed, back against the mattress that creaked under my weight. Lirenne didn't waste a second. She climbed on top of me, straddling my hips, her knees on either side, her full, warm thighs already framing my pelvis. Her heavy breasts swayed slightly above my chest, dark nipples brushing my skin with every ragged breath.
Her hands went straight to my belt. No useless foreplay. She unbuckled it with a sharp tug, yanked the leather free, popped the button, and dragged the zipper down with almost brutal impatience. Then she grabbed the waistband of my trousers and pulled them down in one swift motion, taking my underwear with them. My cock sprang free, already rock-hard, veins bulging, the tip glistening with the first bead of pre-cum.
She stared at it for a second, lips parted, then lifted her eyes to mine. A predatory smile.
"Fuck," she murmured. "You weren't lying about waiting."
I didn't answer. My hands slid back up to her hips, fingers sinking into her soft, firm flesh.
She leaned forward, crushing her mouth against mine in a ravenous kiss, tongues clashing, teeth almost clacking. At the same time, she lowered her hips. Slowly at first. Her soaked pussy brushed my tip, slid over it, coating it in her hot wetness. She rolled her hips, rubbing her swollen lips along my length, up and down, in slow, deliberate circles. Each pass produced a wet, obscene little smack in the silence of the room.
I growled into her mouth. My hips bucked instinctively, chasing more contact. She laughed softly against my lips, a rough, almost mocking sound.
"Impatient, huh?"
"Shut up and take it."
She obeyed.
With one fluid, decisive motion, she straightened slightly, gripped the base of my cock, and guided it straight to her entrance. The head parted her lips, slipped inside a few inches. She was burning hot, tight, drenched enough that it dripped onto my balls.
Then she slammed down.
A muffled cry tore from her throat at the same moment as mine. She took me to the hilt in one brutal thrust, her ass slapping against my thighs. Her walls clamped down violently around me, as if trying to crush me.
"Goddamn…" she groaned, head thrown back, eyes half-closed. "You're thick…"
I dug my fingers into her hips, held her there for a second, savoring the feeling of being buried completely inside her. Then I bucked my hips upward sharply, making her bounce.
She cried out louder.
"Yes… like that… fuck…"
She started moving. Slowly at first—deep rises and falls, rolling her hips each time she bottomed out so my tip rubbed that exact spot inside her that made her tremble. Then she sped up. The wet slaps of skin on skin filled the room, fast, slick, brutal.
I slid my hands up to her breasts, gripped them hard, kneaded them roughly. My thumbs crushed her stiff nipples. She gasped, arched, dug her nails into my pecs.
"Harder…" she growled. "Fuck me harder…"
I took over. My hands moved to her ass, spread her cheeks, gripped tight to lift her and let her drop back down with every thrust. I pounded up into her, deep, violent strokes, no holding back. Every time I bottomed out she let out a raw, almost animal moan.
"Ah… yes… right there… fuck yes… keep going…"
Her pussy clenched around me with every withdrawal, as if refusing to let me go. Her juices ran down my shaft, soaked my balls, dripped between my thighs. The whole room smelled of sex—sweat, slick, raw arousal.
I sat up slightly, one hand grabbing the nape of her neck, pulling her down for another savage kiss. Our tongues fought while I kept hammering into her from below. She bit my lower lip hard enough that I tasted blood. I growled, picked up the pace even more.
"You like it… don't you?" I murmured against her mouth. "You like getting filled like a bitch…"
"Yes… yes… fuck me… fill me… ahhh…"
She started shaking violently. Her thighs clamped around my hips. Her nails raked down my back. I felt her walls tighten even more, spasming around my cock.
"I… I'm gonna… fuck I'm gonna come…"
I pinned her in place with one final deep thrust, holding her impaled to the root. She shattered. A long, broken cry ripped from her throat. Her whole body convulsed, her pussy contracting in violent waves around me, sucking, milking. I held on for three more seconds, then let go.
I emptied inside her in hot, thick spurts, growling against her neck, hips jerking with each pulse. She moaned with every jet, as if she could feel exactly when and where I was filling her.
We stayed like that for a long moment. Her collapsed on top of me, panting, my arms around her waist, my cock still buried deep inside her, our sweat mingling, our ragged breaths slowly calming.
She lifted her head, an exhausted, satisfied smile on her swollen lips.
"Last night with no rules… right?"
I ran a hand through her damp hair.
"Yeah."
She dropped back against my chest, murmuring against my skin:
"Too bad it's the last one."
I didn't answer.
Instead, I picked up the rhythm without waiting. My hands on her hips, I lifted her halfway only to let her drop back down harder each time, every descent more violent than the last. Her tight pussy slid over me with a wet, obscene sound; each slap of her ass against my thighs echoed in the small room like the crack of a whip.
She arched her back, head thrown back, hair plastered to her sweat-soaked neck. Her heavy breasts bounced wildly with every impact. Her nails raked my shoulders, carving red lines that burned deliciously.
"Ahhh…"
A raw, muffled cry. Her walls clamped down violently around my cock, as if she wanted to keep me inside her forever.
I pounded her harder, deeper. My hips rose to meet hers each time, slamming into her with enough force to make the bed shake. She no longer had any control: her body was moving on its own now, rising and falling purely on instinct, driven by the raw hunger devouring her.
"Nnngh…!"
A guttural groan, almost pained. Her thighs trembled around my sides, muscles straining to the breaking point. I could feel her juices running in hot streams down my shaft, soaking my balls, dripping between my thighs onto the mattress.
I shifted the angle. A higher, more precise thrust that rubbed directly against that sensitive spot inside her. She shattered first in a silent scream, mouth wide open, then:
"Aaaahhh…!"
Her eyes rolled back for a split second. Her entire body convulsed, violent spasms making her clamp down around me like a burning vice. She came without a single intelligible word, just broken sounds:
"Hnng… hnnng… ah… ah…!"
I didn't slow down. I fucked her even harder while she was still shaking, holding her impaled on me with every upward stroke, forcing her to feel every inch filling her. Her moans became completely inarticulate, a string of chopped, desperate syllables:
"Mmmph… nngh… ahhh… hah…!"
Her nails dug into my back until they drew blood. I growled too, a rough sound vibrating against her throat as I bit the tender skin beneath her ear. My hands slid under her ass, spreading her cheeks to go even deeper. Each thrust made her bounce, her breasts slapping against my chest.
She lost all control completely. Her hips rolled in chaotic circles, chasing more, always more. Her moans rose in a crescendo, higher and higher, more and more broken:
"Aaa… aaa… hnnn…!"
I felt my own limits approaching. The pressure built, burning, unbearable. I slammed into her one final time to the hilt, holding her there, motionless, as I emptied inside her in powerful, deep spurts. With every pulse she clenched around me, as if trying to draw out every last drop.
"Nnnghhh…!"
Her final cry was long, trembling, almost a sob of pleasure. Her body collapsed onto mine, wracked with aftershocks. Her breasts crushed against my chest, her ragged breathing against my collarbone, her thighs still locked tight around my hips.
She hadn't even caught her breath yet when I lifted her in one sharp motion. My hands under her soaked ass, I carried her to the nearest wall. Her back hit the cold stone with a dull thud. She let out a surprised moan, her eyes still glassy from the previous orgasm.
I pinned her there, legs spread wide around my waist, her back pressed flat against the wall. No gentleness. No pause. My cock—still hard and slick with her juices and mine—found her entrance in one brutal thrust. I buried myself to the hilt in a single violent push.
"Nnnghhh!"
Her cry was muffled against my shoulder. Her burning walls clenched around me like a tight fist. I started pounding her immediately, hips slamming against hers with savage force. Each thrust lifted her a little higher against the wall, her ass bouncing off the stone, her breasts crushed between us.
I fucked her standing up, mercilessly. Harder. Deeper. The wall shook with every impact. Her nails dug into my shoulders until they drew blood, her heels digging into my lower back to pull me even deeper.
"Aaaahhh…! Hnng… hnng…!"
Her moans were chopped, raw, almost sobs. Her head knocked lightly against the stone with each thrust. I could feel her juices flowing copiously down my thighs, hot and slippery. She was drenched.
I shifted the angle, lifting her higher so my tip rubbed exactly against the spot that drove her wild. Her eyes rolled back. Her mouth stayed open—no words, just one long, continuous rasp:
"Mmmph… aaa… aaa… nnnngh…!"
I hammered into her without slowing. Sweat ran between us. Her breasts bounced violently against my chest. I bit her neck hard, leaving a red mark. She arched even more, her walls pulsing around my cock as if she were already on the edge of a third orgasm.
I didn't give her time to recover. I spun her around in one rough motion, slammed her face-first against the wall, ass presented. I entered her from behind with a sharp thrust, one hand fisted in her hair to yank her head back, the other gripping her hip to hold her in place.
The rhythm became even more primal. Sharp, fast, brutal slaps. Her tight pussy swallowed every inch with each stroke. Her moans were now constant, broken, almost uninterrupted:
"Ah… ah… ah… hnnng…! Aaaahhh…!"
I took her like an animal. Each thrust forced her up onto her tiptoes. Her thighs trembled so badly she could barely stand. I felt her fourth orgasm building: her body stiffened, her pussy clamped down so hard I growled myself. This time she came in silence—just one long, violent shudder and a soundless scream, mouth wide open against the wall.
I kept going. Again. And again.
I brought her back to the bed. Then against the dresser. Then on all fours on the floor. Each position more brutal than the last. Each time she came, each time I filled her again, without a single word—just raw growls from me and her moans growing weaker, more shattered.
"Nnngh… mmmph… ahhh…"
The candle finally died completely. The room turned pitch black. We continued in total darkness. Skin against skin. Sweat. Slick. Cum dripping down her thighs. We didn't sleep. Not for a single second.
All night long.
We fucked until the sky shifted from black to deep gray behind the shutters. Until her legs could no longer hold her. Until my cock ached and her pussy was swollen, red, and dripping.
At dawn, we were still pressed together on the wrecked bed, breaths ragged, bodies trembling from exhaustion and pleasure. Not a word exchanged in hours.
She simply rested her head on my chest, heavy eyelids, an exhausted smile on her lips.
Outside, the first sounds of the harbor were already rising. The ship would leave in less than two hours.
I ran a hand through her damp hair.
Last night with no rules.
And we had burned it down to the very last second.