"Nicola—"
"Move," I whisper. "Please, Jason. I need—"
He does. Pulling back slowly, almost all the way out, then pushing back in with a controlled thrust that makes my eyes roll back. He sets a rhythm—slow and deep and devastatingly thorough—and I can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, the drag of him against sensitive places that make me gasp and arch.
His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my sounds as he picks up the pace. The bed creaks beneath us, sheets rustling, and the sounds are almost as intoxicating as the sensations—proof that this is real, that he's here, that I'm not alone.
But slow isn't enough. I need more, need him unleashed, need to know what it feels like when he stops holding back.
"More," I manage between kisses. "Jason, please—more."
Something in him snaps. He hooks my legs over his shoulders, folding me nearly in half, and the new angle punches the air from my lungs. He's deeper now, so deep it borders on too much, hitting places that make stars burst behind my eyelids.
"Is this what you need?" His voice is rough, strained, but there's satisfaction threading through it. Possession.
"Yes—oh god, yes—"
He drives into me harder, faster, and I lose the ability to form coherent words. There's only sensation—the stretch of him, the pressure, the friction, the weight of his body pinning me down.
His gaze never leaves my face, watching every reaction, cataloging every gasp and moan. It's intense being seen like this, being watched as I come apart beneath him. But I can't look away either, caught in the dark heat of his eyes.
"You're mine," he says, voice low and absolute.
"Yes," I gasp. The word tears out of me, truth and surrender wrapped into one. "Yes."
He makes a sound deep in his chest of satisfaction, and the rhythm changes, becomes almost brutal in its intensity. I'm pushed higher, pleasure coiling tighter, and I can feel the edge approaching fast.
"Jason—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His hand slides between us, finding where we're joined, and the added pressure makes me cry out. "Let go. I've got you."
And I do. I shatter, pleasure ripping through me in waves so intense I forget how to breathe. My body locks around him, inner muscles clenching rhythmically, and I hear him curse—a bitten-off sound that's half prayer, half desperation.
But he doesn't stop. He keeps moving, drawing out my orgasm until I'm trembling and oversensitive, until the pleasure borders on pain. Only then does he slow, pulling out and shifting our positions.
"Not done with you yet," he murmurs, voice rough.
He pulls me upright, maneuvering us so I'm half-sitting, half-lying while he kneels beside the bed.
The new position is awkward at first, limbs tangling as we figure out the angle, but then he's pushing back inside and the sensation steals my breath all over again.
This angle is different, and I feel him in new places, pressure and stretch in ways that make my toes curl. He grips my hip with one hand, steadying me, while the other braces against the bed. His rhythm is slower now, more controlled, but no less intense.
I prop myself on one elbow, using my free hand to grip his forearm for leverage. The muscles beneath my fingers flex with each thrust, tendons standing out in sharp relief. He's beautiful like this, all controlled power and focused intensity, and I can't look away.
"Touch yourself," he commands, voice rough.
Heat floods my face. "I—"
"Do it." His gaze locks with mine, dark and commanding. "Want to feel you come again."
My hand slides down my belly, trembling slightly, and when my fingers find the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves, I gasp. The sensation is almost too much combined with the stretch of him inside me, but I don't stop. Can't stop.
His eyes track the movement, watching with an intensity that makes me feel exposed and powerful all at once. "That's it," he murmurs. "Good girl."
The praise makes something inside me clench. I circle faster, chasing the sensation, and feel the pressure building again—impossibly fast, impossibly intense. He adjusts his angle, hittingthat perfect spot inside with every thrust, and suddenly I'm there, teetering on the edge.
"Jason—"
