Eli stayed on top of him, still joined, her weight solid and warm against his hips and chest.
Atlas kept one hand at the back of her neck and the other low on her back, fingers tracing the faint marks his grip had left on her hips. The storage room was quiet except for their breathing and the occasional soft creak of the narrow bed when one of them shifted.
Outside, the river continued its steady night sound against the bank. The single lamp on the shelf burned low, casting a dull orange light across the walls and the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.
Eli eventually rolled her hips once, slow and deliberate, testing. Atlas was still half-hard inside her. She made a low sound of approval and did it again, grinding down with the same controlled pressure she had used earlier.
The wetness between them made the motion smooth. She could feel every inch of him as she moved, the residual heat and slick from before still coating both of them.
