"You feel so fucking perfect," he growls against my ear, bending over me. His chest presses against my back, surrounding me completely. "So wet for me. So ready."
I can't form words. Can only moan as he works me with practiced precision. He knows exactly how I like to be touched, exactly what rhythm drives me insane. Years of learning my body, of studying my responses.
"Tell me what you need," he demands.
"More," I gasp. "Harder. Please."
He pulls almost completely out, and I whimper at the loss. Then he slams back in, hitting so deep I see white. Again. And again. The pace is punishing, exactly what I begged for.
His fingers on my clit move faster, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The tension coils tighter in my belly, pleasure winding to something unbearable.
"Not yet," he commands when my body starts to tense. "You wait for permission."
The denial makes it worse. Better. I'm balanced on the edge, every nerve ending firing, desperate for release but holding back because he told me to. Because this is what I need—to surrender control completely, to let him decide when I'm allowed to come.
"Fitz," I plead. "Please."
"Not yet." His voice is rough, strained. He's close too, I can feel it in the way his rhythm falters slightly, in the increased pressure of his grip. "You come when I tell you to. Not before."
The power in that command, the control, sends another wave of arousal through me. I'm soaking wet, the obscene sounds of our coupling filling the room. My arms shake with the effort of holding position, of keeping myself arched and open for him.
He shifts angle slightly and hits something devastating inside me. I cry out, my body clenching around him.
"Good girl," he murmurs, approval in his voice. "Taking me so well. Looking so beautiful like this, spread open for me, letting me use you exactly how I want."
The praise mixed with the dominance is intoxicating. This is who we are—him in control, me submitting. Not because I'm weak, but because I choose it. Because giving him this power is the ultimate trust.
His hand leaves my clit to grip both hips, fingers digging in as he drives into me with renewed intensity. The loss of direct stimulation is maddening, but I don't dare reach for myself. He didn't give permission for that.
"Now," he finally commands, his hand returning to where I need it most. His fingers circle my clit with devastating precision. "Come for me. Now."
My body obeys before my mind processes the order. The orgasm crashes through me with devastating intensity, pleasure so sharp it borders on pain. I cry out, probably loud enough for neighbors to hear, but I don't care.
He follows me over the edge, groaning my name. I feel him pulse inside me, heat and pressure and completion. His grip tightens, holding me in place.
We collapse together, sweaty and satisfied and completely connected. My pulse hammers in my throat, my breathing ragged. Every muscle feels loose and satisfied.
"Happy New Year, love," he murmurs against my shoulder, pressing a kiss to damp skin.
"Happy New Year," I reply. "Here's to surviving it."
"Here's to more than surviving. Here's to thriving. Together."
"Together," I agree, and seal it with a kiss.
I curl against Fitz's side, listening to his heartbeat slow to normal. His arm tightens around me.
Tomorrow, we hunt. Tomorrow, we take control of the threat instead of waiting for it to find us.
But tonight belongs to us. To this. To the life we're building despite everyone who wants to tear it down.
Outside, fireworks still pop and crackle over London. Inside, I close my eyes and let myself believe in new beginnings.
We've earned this one.
10
FITZ
