Her inner was as welcoming as he'd expected. Her body had always liked him more than she did. Pretty moans, too, like she'd been dying without him and he was now giving her something that she'd been starving for, finally. He'd never heard these sounds out of her before. What a reward it was to the boy who'd shaped her sexuality. Her hands on his wrists gave pressure, and he took it for eagerness. Another perfect noise when he lifted her, that he recognized.<br/><br/>She cried in this new position. There was a tone to it that kept his cock hard inside her, while she was served up by him like this. This angle let him surge deeper, but he'd already found her limit while she was sitting. Cain had only found the end of his own length inside her. Keida kept her hands were they were, a comfortable way to control her, as his hips collided with her buttcheeks, his member eagerly crashing against the end of her tunnel. How dark that he let her tears be the spice of this, but he wasn't sure she wasn't deriving some pleasure from her misery, as well.<br/><br/>Keida looked down, proud, as he saw himself lance and retreat. Her lower lips were pretty around his girth, and he liked they'd always tell him what her voice would not. She'd not had an answer for anything he'd said, and he like to think it was because she didn't want to agree. "Say my name like you need it." he demanded, his hips slowing to an erratic, teasing pace instead. He knew her, he knew exactly where to bully her to get her moans out. But then she'd be herself again, wouldn't she, and then she'd very likely leave.<br/><br/>He wanted her to see herself for a moment. It wasn't an outright admission, which Haley seemed to be entirely allergic to, but it'd be something that stuck in her heart, if she heard herself in that special, syrupy tone. Keida even let her have her hands back, all they'd be good for was bracing herself against the counter, anyway, with his hand still on her hips to keep her exactly where she was, a simple target for his active attention, and the cock that wasn't Cain's.<br/><br/>If she did utter his name in the right way, tears on her face, he would reward her, and do nothing but aim at her favorite place, over and over, kissing it again and again with the head of his member. She was going to sew into her memory that his name was intrinsically connected to her pleasure. A pleasure she wouldn't have sought on his doorstep if her fairy-tale relationship had been as perfect as she said. He allowed himself to slap her buttcheek, too, for emphasis, and would wait for her to reach her edge, and to have his own bursting pleasure push her off, marking the inner that Cain had not even really felt.