Sira took him into her mouth, and the rest of the sentence died.
"Ugh!"
She didn’t ease into it.
She sank until her lips met the fist she had wrapped around the base of him, held there long enough for him to feel the wet heat of her throat, then pulled back with a slow drag of her tongue along the underside.
Kane’s good hand found the edge of the mattress.
The other stayed careful at his side.
Sira glanced up through orange lashes, eyes bright with the particular satisfaction of someone who had planned this through an entire dinner of stolen food and serious faces, and went down again.
"Sira—"
She hummed around him.
The vibration ran straight up his spine.
She set a rhythm that was steady without being rushed: full strokes, wet sounds, the occasional hollow of her cheeks when she decided he needed the reminder that she was done waiting.
One hand stayed on his cock.
The other braced on his thigh hard enough to leave crescents from her nails.
Kane reached down, found the waist of the trousers she had worn to the table, and tore the ties open with one sharp pull.
The fabric gave.
Sira made a muffled sound of protest that turned into something else entirely when he shoved the ruined material down over her hips and left her bare from the waist.
"Look at that ass."
She didn’t stop sucking.
If anything, she took him deeper, as if the torn cloth were proof she had won the opening argument.
His good hand settled on the curve of her ass.
He squeezed once, testing, then brought his palm down in a slow, deliberate slap that cracked softly through the quiet chamber.
"Mmph!"
Sira jerked.
The sound she made around his cock was raw and immediate.
A pink print bloomed across her skin.
Kane watched it darken and did it again on the other side, same measured force, same unhurried pace.
"You like it?"
Sira pulled off him just far enough to breathe, chin wet, mouth swollen.
"Do that again... and ask properly."
He slapped her ass a third time, slower, letting the sting linger.
The skin went from pink to a deeper red under his hand.
Sira moaned openly this time, forehead dropping against his hip for a second before she recovered and licked a stripe up the length of him.
"Yes," she got out.
"I like it. I have been stuck in corridors listening to Thora collect and Misha schedule while you did forest reports. If you stop at three, I will bite you."
Kane gave her a fourth.
"Agh!"
Sira’s back arched.
She took him back into her mouth with a hungry sound and sucked harder, her free hand stroking what her lips did not cover.
He kept his palm on the heated skin of her ass, sometimes squeezing, sometimes delivering another measured slap that made her moan around him and press back into his hand for more.
The red prints stacked.
She didn’t ask him to stop.
When her rhythm started to turn erratic, he slid his fingers down the cleft of her ass, found her already soaked, and pushed two fingers into her cunt without warning.
"Ngh—"
Sira choked on a moan.
Her hips pushed back onto his hand at the same time her mouth drove down onto his cock.
Kane curled his fingers and worked her from behind while she sucked, the wet sounds of both filling the room: her lips on him, his fingers fucking into her, the occasional soft slap when he decided the red on her ass needed refreshing.
"Look at you," he said, voice rough.
"Torn trousers, ass red, choking on my cock like the schedules never existed. This is what you wanted through the entire meeting?"
Sira pulled off long enough to answer, breath ragged, eyes dark.
"This is what I wanted through the entire week. Harder."
He added a third finger and gave her harder.
Sira swore and went back down on him with renewed purpose, sucking in time with the thrust of his hand, orange hair falling forward in a messy curtain.
Kane’s control frayed at the edges.
He slapped her ass again, felt her cunt clamp around his fingers in response, and decided he had been patient enough.
He pulled his fingers free, hooked his good arm under her, and lifted.
Sira made a startled, delighted sound as her knees left the floor.
Kane stood in one motion, turned, and put her back against the nearest clear stretch of wall.
Her torn trousers hung off one ankle.
Her ass was still warm and red under his hand.
He dragged the head of his cock through the slick mess between her thighs, found her entrance, and thrust up into her in a single deep stroke that forced a broken cry out of her throat.
"Finally—"
Sira’s head thudded lightly against the wall.
Her legs locked around his waist.
"Finally. Fuck me. I did not wait through forest charms and warm stones for a careful recovery pace."
Kane braced his good shoulder and drove into her hard.
The angle let him bury himself to the hilt on every stroke.
Sira clung to him, nails in his back, mouth open against his neck.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
Every thrust punched a raw sound out of her.
The red marks on her ass caught against his forearm when he adjusted his grip; she only pulled him closer.
"Harder," she demanded.
"You can be annoyed about the threshold and the clock tomorrow. Tonight you pay the corridor debt."
He paid it.
Short, powerful strokes that slapped wetly against her, his mouth finding the side of her throat, her orange hair stuck to both their faces.
Sira came first with a loud, shaking cry, cunt locking down around him in tight pulses while he fucked her through it without slowing.
Kane lasted only a handful of thrusts more before he buried himself deep and spilled into her with a rough groan, forehead against the wall beside her head, good arm still holding her up as if putting her down were optional.