I turn my head, meet his eyes over my shoulder, and he pushes in with one hard thrust that empties my lungs. He's big, bigger than I expected, thicker, and the stretch borders on too much but then he moves and too much becomes exactly right.
"Fuck." His hand tangles in my hair, pulls my head back. "So tight. So perfect. Mine."
"Yours," I gasp.
He fucks me hard, using the couch for leverage, his hand gripping my hip so tight I know it'll bruise. The wet sound of it fills the loft—obscene, perfect—and I love it. Love the way he's finally letting go, finally taking what he wants. His hand leaves my hair to wrap around my throat, pulling me up and back against his chest.
"Touch yourself. I want to feel you come on my cock."
My fingers find my clit, circling fast, and it only takes seconds before I'm clenching around him.
"That's it. Fuck, that's it." His thrusts go erratic, brutal. "Where—"
"Inside. Please, Holt, please—"
"Scout—"
"I don't care. I need you to. Please, I need to feel you—"
He comes with a sound that's barely human, grinding deep, holding me so tight I can't breathe and I don't care.
We stay frozen for a moment, both panting. Then he pulls out carefully, helps me stand, and kisses me for the first time. It's consuming, all tongue and teeth, tasting like me and him and us.
"Bed," he says against my mouth. "I need—the bed."
We move to the bedroom, and he sits on the edge of the bed, pulling me between his legs. His hands roam my body while he looks up at me, and there's something vulnerable about him sitting while I stand.
"You're beautiful," he says, then seems surprised he said it out loud.
"So are you." My fingers trace the scars where his thigh ends, and he shivers. "All of you."
He pulls me down into his lap, my back to his chest, spreading my thighs wide over his left leg—the intact one, giving him leverage.
"Ride me."
I sink down onto him, the position making him feel impossibly deep, and when I start to move he stops me.
"Slow. Want to feel every inch."
The torture of it, the way he makes me work for every bit of friction, has me babbling. Begging. His hands roam everywhere—pinching my nipples until they ache, rubbing my clit but never quite enough.
"Please," I sob. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?"
"More. Harder. Please fuck me harder."
He shifts us suddenly, turning me onto my stomach on the bed.
Then he's covering my body with his, pushing back inside me. This position, with him fully over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, makes me feel small and safe and completely his. He fucks me slow and deep at first, his mouth against my ear.
"You feel that?" His voice is rough, wrecked. "Feel how deep I am? How perfectly you take me?"
I can only whimper in response.
"Been thinking about this." Another slow thrust. "About having you under me. About making you mine." His teeth graze my ear. "You're so fucking tight, baby. So wet for me. Just for me."
"Yes," I gasp. "Just you."
