"Yes," I gasp. "Please."
His fingers slide through my folds, finding me slick and ready. He groans against my neck, two fingers circling my entrance before one pushes inside. The intrusion is welcome, but not enough. I push down, taking him deeper.
"Greedy," he murmurs, but there's approval in his voice. He adds a second finger, stretching me slightly, while his thumb finds the sensitive bundle of nerves above.
He withdraws his hand, then hooks his fingers into the sides of my underwear, dragging them down my legs. I step out of them, now completely naked before him. His eyes rake over me, taking in every curve, every soft edge.
He sheds his boxer briefs quickly, his erection springing free. He's thick, longer than average, the head already flushed dark and glistening.
I reach for him, wrapping my fingers around his length, feeling the velvet-soft skin over rigid hardness. A drop of moisture beads at the tip, and I swipe my thumb through it, spreading it down his shaft as I stroke him.
His breath hisses through his teeth, hips jerking into my touch. I guide him to my entrance. The blunt head of him presses against me, and I feel myself opening, yielding to the pressure. His hands grip my hips, steadying me as he begins to push inside.
The stretch is intense, a burning fullness that makes me gasp. He enters me by slow degrees, giving me time to adjust to his size. I can feel every inch of him, the throb of his pulse inside me, the tremble in his thighs as he holds himself still.
"Jesus, you're tight," he breathes, forehead resting against mine. "You okay?"
"Better than okay," I assure him, shifting my hips experimentally.
The small movement draws a groan from deep in his chest. His grip on my hips tightens, and he withdraws slightly before pushing back in. The drag of him inside me sends sparks of pleasure up my spine.
He establishes a rhythm, slow at first, each thrust deliberate and deep. I wrap one leg around his waist, changing the angle, taking him deeper. His next thrust hits something inside me that makes me cry out.
He picks up the pace, driving into me with more force. The wall is hard against my back, but I barely notice, too lost in the sensation of him moving inside me. The room fills with the sounds of our breathing, the wet sounds of our bodies, the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath us.
One of his hands slides up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over the nipple in time with his thrusts. The additional sensation makes me clench around him, and he groans.
"You feel so fucking good," he says, voice strained. "So hot and tight around me."
His pace falters slightly, and I can tell he's close. But I'm not there yet, hovering on the edge but unable to fall over. He suddenly changes tactics, lifting me fully off the ground. I wrapboth legs around his waist, arms around his neck as he carries me to the workbench.
He sets me down on the edge, still buried inside me. The new position gives me leverage, allows me to rock against him more freely. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider as he begins to move again.
I slip a hand between us. I'm swollen and slick, sensitive to the lightest touch. I circle my clit as he continues to thrust, matching his rhythm.
My inner muscles begin to flutter around him, and his pace increases, driving deeper.
My orgasm builds rapidly, a coiling tension low in my belly. When it breaks, it crashes through me with unexpected force. I cry out, head falling back as my body clenches around him in rhythmic waves. The pleasure is sharp, almost painful in its intensity, radiating outward from where we're joined.
Austin's rhythm grows erratic as my muscles pulse around him. His hands grip my thighs hard enough to bruise, holding me open as he drives into me.
With a final, deep thrust, he stills, a groan tearing from his throat as I feel the hot pulse of his release inside me.
Chapter 6 – Austin
The station is quiet in the small hours of the morning. The only sounds are the soft hum of the heating system, the occasional creak of the old building settling, and Michelle's steady breathing beside me. We've made our way to the station's common room after leaving the equipment room, neither of us quite ready to face the outside world yet.
My body feels both exhausted and alert, like I've run a marathon but couldn't sleep if I tried.
Michelle sits beside me on the worn leather couch, close enough that our shoulders touch. She's pulled on her clothes, as have I, but there's a rumpled quality to her that makes my chest tight with affection. A faint smudge of soot still marks her cheekbone, overlooked in the chaos of earlier. Her hair falls in messy waves around her face, and her eyes, though tired, remain clear and focused when they meet mine.
"You have that look again," she says softly, breaking the comfortable silence between us.
"What look?" I ask, turning toward her.
"The one from the fire. Like you're afraid I might disappear." Her voice is gentle, without accusation.
I reach out without thinking, my thumb brushing over the smudge on her cheek. "Maybe I am," I admit. The words feel raw in my throat, honest in a way I rarely allow myself to be. "Today was... a lot."
