"Yes. God, yes. Keep going."
He moves again, deeper this time, and I cry out softly, my nails digging into his shoulders.
"Breathe," he murmurs, his forehead pressed against mine. "Just breathe."
I do, forcing myself to relax, and he slides in further, filling me completely. When he's fully seated, we both freeze, breathing hard, and I can feel every inch of him, hot and pulsing inside me.
"You feel—" He breaks off, his jaw clenched. "God, Wendy."
"Move," I whisper. "Please."
He does.
He pulls back slowly, almost all the way out, and the drag of him against my walls makes me whimper. Then he pushes back in, steady and controlled, and I arch into him, my legs tightening around his hips.
He sets a slow rhythm, his hands braced on either side of my head, and I lose myself in the feel of him. Each thrust sends sparks racing through my body, building something low in my belly that coils tighter with every movement.
"Ezra," I breathe, my hands clutching at his back.
"I've got you," he murmurs. "I've got you."
He shifts slightly, angling his hips, and the sensation changes—sharper, deeper, hitting something inside me that makes me see stars.
"There?" he asks, his voice rough.
"Yes. Right there. Don't stop."
He doesn't.
He keeps moving, and I feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust. My breath comes in short gasps, my body trembling beneath him.
"Wendy." His voice is strained, rough with need. "I need—I need to move you."
"Yes. Whatever you need."
He sits back suddenly, pulling me with him, and I gasp as the angle shifts. I'm in his lap now, straddling him, my legs wrapped around his waist, and his hands grip my hips, steadying me.
I cry out, my hands gripping his shoulders for balance.
"Move," he says, his voice low and commanding, his eyes dark with desire.
I do, rocking against him experimentally, and the sensation is overwhelming, deeper than before. I can feel him everywhere, stretching me, filling me, and the friction against that spot inside me makes my vision blur.
His hands slide up my back, into my hair, and he kisses me hard, swallowing my moans. His tongue moves in rhythm with his hips, claiming my mouth the way his body claims the rest of me.
"God, you feel good," he murmurs against my mouth, his breath hot and ragged. "So good."
I move faster, chasing the pleasure, grinding down against him, and he matches my rhythm, his hips driving up to meet mine. The sound of our bodies coming together fills the room, wet, rhythmic and utterly obscene.
His hands move to my breasts, cupping them, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I gasp into his touch.
"Ezra, I'm—"
"Not yet," he growls. "Hold on."
He stands suddenly, lifting me with him, and I yelp in surprise, my legs tightening around his waist. He's still inside me, still hard, and the shift in position makes me moan.
He carries me to the small table near the window, lowering me onto the edge. The wood is cool against my back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body.
