I grip her jaw between my thumb and forefinger, holding her still as I claim her mouth. Her taste mingles with her own arousal still coating my tongue. She whimpers—a sound so broken and needy it makes my cock jerk against her. Her nails dig half-moons into my shoulders as she grinds against the ridge straining my zipper.
"I should stop," I breathe against the pulse hammering in her throat.
"Then why aren't you?" she whispers, voice cracked and raw, her breath hot against my ear.
I pull back just enough to see her—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes that see right through me.
"I can't," I admit. "Not when you look at me like I'm worth saving."
Her fingers slide up my neck, thumb pressing against my racing pulse.
"I'm not trying to save you," she says, arching up so our foreheads touch. "I just want to feel like I'm not the only one falling apart."
Fuck.
I sit up, metal belt buckle scraping my stomach as I tear at my jeans, shoving them down just enough to free my aching cock. The steel barbell piercing the head catches the moonlight. She watches, pupils blown, lips parted, breath coming in little gasps. Her inner thighs glisten with slick arousal, dress bunched around her waist.
"I need to be inside you," I rasp, voice like gravel. "Right fucking now."
She reaches for me, fingers trembling against my hip bones, nails digging crescents into my skin.
I hook my thumb around her thighs. The scent of her hits me—primal, raw. When I push inside, the piercing catches on her swollen flesh, making her back arch violently off the ground.
"Fuck," I hiss as her walls grip me, molten silk pulsing around every vein and ridge. Sweat drips from my forehead onto her collarbone, sliding between her breasts.
"I should go slow," I pant against her throat, tasting salt.
She sinks her teeth into my shoulder, hard enough to break skin. "I don't want slow."
"What do you want, butterfly?" My voice breaks as she clenches around me.
"Make me feel you everywhere," she breathes, copper-sweet against my mouth.
I slam into her so deep she cries out, her fingernails raking fire down my back. Her pussy grips me like a vice with each thrust, the wet sound of our bodies colliding echoing in the night air.
And I claim her like she's oxygen.
Every nerve ending electric.
Every thrust making her walls flutter.
Every breath a desperate prayer against her skin.
Her moans echo off the rooftop. Her voice goes ragged as she chants my name like a fucking prayer. And when she comes again — shaking, sobbing, breaking apart beneath me — I follow her straight into the abyss.
Groaning her name as I empty inside her, feeling the way her body tightens with a desperation that mirrors my own, I realise far too late that there’s no part of me I’ve managed to keep from her — not the jagged pieces, not the soft ones I swore didn’t exist, not even the ghosts that still cling to my ribs like dying vines refusing to let go — because in this moment, I’m fucking claiming her, every part, every inch, every breath she surrenders to me as though she’s never had a safer place to fall.
I don’t move.
Not at first.
She’s still wrapped around me, her legs locked at my waist, her arms loose but trembling, both of us slick with the kind of exhaustion that feels like survival rather than ruin, our chests rising and falling out of sync like two broken things learning how to breathe in the same rhythm for the first time.
Perhaps we have survived something.
Something violent.
Something that reshaped the world around us without asking permission.
