SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 773: The Quiet After [+18]

He worked through the last of the plates in an easy quiet, the water warm over his hands, the only sounds his own movements and the low creak of the house winding down for the night.

Aubrelle stayed where she was, her head tilted toward him, following him by the small noises he made the way she followed everything.

"You don't have to sit up with me," he said, drying the last dish. "You've had a longer day than any of us. Three days on a road, and a month before that."

"I know I don't have to." Her voice was soft, an ease in it she only wore when it came down to the two of them. "I want to. It's the first quiet in a month that didn't have my whole family talking over it. I'd rather spend it here, listening to you pretend those pans aren't soaking."

He huffed. "Cynthia has spies. I'm not risking it."

"Wise man."

He set the last of it aside, dried his hands, and crossed to her, and she turned her face up as he came, sightless and certain at once.

"You should rest," he said, quieter now.

"In a while." She reached up, found his hand, and turned it over in hers, reading the tiredness worked into it. Then a slow, knowing warmth crept into her face. "Though I'll tell you where I'm going first, before you get ideas about carrying me off to bed like an invalid." She rose, one hand still in his. "I'm going to wash. I haven't since the road, not properly." Her mouth curved. "And between us, I don't smell entirely of roses just now."

"I hadn't wanted to say."

"You'd be sleeping in the hall if you had." She tugged lightly on his hand, an invitation folded into the small gesture, plain as anything to a man who knew how to read her. "Come with me."

And he did.

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in the hush of candlelit warmth. Aubrelle turned, her unfocused red eyes scanning the room as if she could see every polished stone, every curl of steam curling into the air. She exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening, and Trafalgar watched the tension melt from her like wax dripping down a candle.

She reached for the fastenings of her travel jacket, fingers working with practiced ease. The fabric parted, slipping from her shoulders to pool at her feet. Beneath it, she wore a simple linen shift, thin enough that the faint curves of her body showed through, full breasts, a narrow waist, hips that swayed when she moved. She caught his gaze and smirked, though there was no malice in it, only warmth.

"Help me with this," she murmured, tugging at the hem of her shift. "I'm all thumbs after days on the road."

Trafalgar didn't hesitate. He stepped close, hands brushing hers aside as he gathered the fabric and pulled it up over her head. The shift came free, leaving her bare before him. His breath hitched. She was even more beautiful than he remembered—skin flushed from travel, a faint sheen of sweat clinging to her collarbone. The long scar across her eyes caught the light, a silver thread in the dim glow.

"You're staring," she teased, though her voice was soft, almost breathless.

"I am," he admitted, voice rough.

She stepped closer, her hands finding his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. "Then do something about it."

He didn't need to be told twice.

His mouth crashed into hers, hungry and demanding, and she kissed him back just as fiercely. Their bodies pressed together, skin against skin, and Trafalgar groaned into the kiss, hands sliding down to grip her waist. She was warm, soft, nothing like the ghost of memory he'd carried for weeks.

Aubrelle's fingers fumbled with the belt of his trousers, tugging until the leather gave way. She shoved the fabric down his hips, and his cock sprang free, thick and already hard for her. She wrapped her hand around him, stroking once, twice—just enough to make him shudder.

"Fuck," he hissed against her lips.

She grinned, wicked and knowing. "Patience."

Then she sank to her knees.

The first touch of her mouth was electric. She took him deep, tongue swirling around the tip before she hollowed her cheeks and swallowed him whole. Trafalgar's fingers tangled in her hair, hips jerking involuntarily. She hummed around him, the vibration sending a shudder through his body.

"Gods, Aubrelle—"

She pulled back just enough to murmur, "Shh. You'll wake the house."

But neither of them cared.

She worked him with her mouth, slow and thorough, one hand cupping his balls while the other gripped the base of his cock. Precome leaked from him, slicking her lips, and she moaned around him, the sound vibrating straight to his core.

Trafalgar's breath came in ragged gasps. He was close—too close. He tugged gently at her hair, pulling her off him with a wet pop.

She looked up at him, lips swollen, eyes dark with desire. "Not yet."

Before he could protest, she stood, pressing her body against his. Her nipples were hard points against his chest, her skin fever-hot. She kissed him again, slower this time, her tongue tasting herself on his lips.

Then she turned, walking backward toward the steaming bath. "Get in."

Trafalgar didn't argue. He followed, stepping into the warm water with a groan. It lapped at his skin, soothing the tension in his muscles. Aubrelle climbed in after him, sinking into the water with a sigh that was almost a purr.

She straddled his lap, her thighs bracketing his hips, her wet pussy pressing against his cock. The heat of her nearly undid him.

"Ride me," he growled.

She lifted herself just enough to guide him to her entrance, then sank down in one smooth motion. They both gasped as he filled her, her tight heat enveloping him in wet, perfect friction. She was already soaked.

Aubrelle rode him slow at first, rolling her hips in a way that made his vision blur. Then she leaned forward, her hands pressing against his chest as she picked up the pace. Water sloshed around them, droplets catching the candlelight like tiny stars.

Trafalgar gripped her hips, helping her move, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside her with every thrust. She was so fucking tight–

"Harder," she panted.

He obeyed.

He fucked up into her, driving deep, his balls slapping against her ass. She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders, and he knew she was close.

Her back arched, her pussy clenching around him as she came with a broken moan. The sight of her—breasts bouncing, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure—sent him over the edge. He buried himself deep and came with a groan, filling her with thick, hot pulses.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, panting, water cooling around them. Aubrelle rested her forehead against his, her breath warm against his lips.

Then she smirked.

"Now," she said, "we wash."