I started moving.
Not the careful pace I used with Naomi, not the teasing rhythm Aurora demanded so she could control the experience. This was Addison's pace, hard and deep and just shy of punishing, each stroke bottoming out with enough force that her body jolted up the mattress and the headboard cracked against the brick wall behind it. The thigh-highs gripped my sides with every thrust, the elastic bands biting into her skin where her muscles flexed and released.
Addison took everything I gave her and asked for more through the pressure of her heels in my back and the way her hips rose to meet me on every downstroke. Her body had abandoned all pretense of composure, her stomach clenching and releasing in visible contractions, her breasts bouncing with each impact as milk sprayed in thin arcs that hit my chest and her own chin and the pillows and everything within a two-foot radius.
