Chapter 893: Greedy Mornings (r-18) Peter held her through it—arms locked around her waist like steel bands—rocking her gently on his cock, prolonging every flutter, every tremor, murmuring praise into her skin in a low, reverent litany. "That’s my girl... coming so hard... feel how deep you let me..." When the aftershocks finally eased she collapsed against his chest—gasping, shaking, utterly spent—but her hips still rolled in tiny, greedy circles, chasing the lingering sparks, already aching for more, her pussy clenching softly around him in sleepy, possessive pulses. Peter guided her with steady, reverent hands—palms broad and warm under her thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive crease where leg met hip—lifting her just enough to shift without breaking their connection. "Come here, baby," he murmured, voice low and thick with care, "let me turn you slow. I’ve got every inch of you." His fingers splayed wide across the small of her back, supporting her weight as he eased her upright. The subtle drag of his cock along her front wall made her whimper—high, fractured—the thick ridge scraping over raw, oversensitive nerves still pulsing from the last climax. Fresh slick surged out around his base in a warm, slippery rush, coating his heavy balls and dripping audibly onto the sheets with a soft, wet patter. He sat back on his heels—knees spread wide for balance—guiding her legs to wrap around his waist one at a time. "Hook your ankles behind me," he coached gently, breath hot against her ear. "Arms around my neck. Lean into me—I won’t let you fall." Her arms looped around his neck; breasts crushed soft and full against his chest, nipples scraping over coarse hair with every shaky inhale. He kept one iron arm locked behind her back, the other hand cupping her ass—fingers digging into plush flesh, spreading her cheeks just enough to feel the slick heat where they joined more intimately. With infinite patience he lowered her onto his lap—gravity pulling her down the final devastating inch. His thick cock—still rock-hard, veins bulging under taut skin, glistening with her glossy release—sank impossibly deeper. The broad, flared head kissed her cervix in a heavy, unyielding press; the shaft stretched her in a straight, unrelenting column from entrance to core. Sarah gasped—sharp, high, almost a sob—nails raking down his shoulders as the new fullness bloomed deep in her belly, dense and aching, making her vision spark white at the edges. "Breathe through it, sweet girl," he soothed, lips brushing her temple, tasting salt and sweat. "You’re taking me so perfectly. Look down—watch how your pussy opens for me." She obeyed—eyes dropping, glassy and wide. The sight was obscene, hypnotic: her swollen outer lips stretched taut and dark pink around the thick base of his cock, clinging desperately to every veined inch like they were trying to pull him deeper. A glossy ring of her own slick coated him where they joined—shiny, slippery, stretched thin until the delicate skin looked almost translucent. Clear arousal leaked steadily from the seam, dripping in slow, viscous strings down his heavy balls and pooling on his thighs; each tiny shift made her inner lips drag outward in glossy, slippery petals before folding back in, framing the impossible stretch with wet, obscene precision. Peter groaned—low, feral—hands settling on her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft hollows above her pelvis. "Ride me, baby," he rasped, pride and hunger thickening his voice. "Show me how you want it. Take everything." She started slow—tentative rocks forward and back—testing the depth, savoring the burn. Each forward tilt ground her swollen clit hard against his pubic bone; coarse hair rasped over slick, oversensitive flesh, sending bright, electric sparks shooting up her spine. Each backward tilt dragged her inner lips outward along his veined length—exposing the glossy pink ring of her entrance gripping him before she sank down again with a wet, sucking schlick. The sounds filled the room: slick squelching, soft skin-slaps, her breathy whimpers turning into needy moans. Then the rhythm shifted. Her hips snapped faster—circling tighter, bouncing harder. She braced her palms flat on his chest—nails digging in for leverage—and began to ride him in earnest. Short, frantic bounces at first—lifting just a few inches before slamming back down—then longer, fuller strokes: rising until only the flared head remained inside her stretched entrance, inner lips clinging desperately to the crown, then dropping hard, taking every thick inch in one greedy, brutal plunge. Her ass clapped against his thighs on every downstroke—sharp, wet smacks that echoed through the room. The flesh rippled visibly with each impact—soft, plush cheeks jiggling and quivering, waves rolling outward from the point of contact, skin flushing pink from the force. She twerked down harder—hips rolling in filthy, deliberate circles on the descent—making her ass bounce and clap even louder, the ripples traveling up her lower back in hypnotic waves. One hand flew back—slapping her own ass cheek hard—then again—leaving bright red handprints that made her pussy spasm viciously around him. Peter stared, transfixed—the way her hips snapped and rolled, the frantic bounce of her body, the desperate grind of her clit against him. The resemblance hit him like a fist: exactly like Linda—wild, unashamed, riding him with the same furious rhythm, the same sharp slaps of skin on skin, the same breathless cries as she slammed herself down onto his cock over and over. Uncanny. Intoxicating. "Fuck... you’re just like mom," he growled under his breath, the words slipping out raw and unfiltered. His hands tightened on her hips—thumbs digging in harder—not to slow her, but to feel every frantic bounce, every ripple of her ass against his thighs. Sarah’s eyes widened—shock flashing through the haze—then darkened with something hotter, more forbidden. The taboo words ignited her. She rode him harder—faster—lifting higher now, almost pulling off completely before slamming back down, the head of his cock punching against her cervix with every brutal drop. Her pussy clenched viciously around him on each impact—milking his thickness—slick gushing out in hot, forceful spurts that soaked his balls, his thighs, the sheets beneath them in a warm, spreading puddle. "Yes—fuck—tell me—" she sobbed, voice cracking on a moan. Her hands flew to her own breasts—squeezing hard, pinching nipples until they flushed darker—then one hand slapped her ass again—sharp, loud—making the flesh jiggle and her pussy spasm harder around him. "Tell me I’m like mom—tell me I fuck you better—"