She breaks away long enough to pull her sweater over her head and throw it across the cell. No bra. Just skin I want to taste and mark and worship.
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she says.
“I know.”
“This doesn’t mean anything.”
She reaches for my belt. I grab her wrists and spin us, pressing her back against the wall. She gasps, and I swallow the sound with another kiss while I work her jeans open.
We’re frantic now.
All hands and mouths and too many clothes between us. She shoves my shirt up, and I strip it off while she kicks free of her jeans and underwear. And then, she’s standing there, bare skin that I want to memorize before she walks out of here and never speaks to me again.
I drop to my knees.
“What are you?—”
I put my mouth on her before she can finish the question.
She tastes like want and anger and everything I’m about to lose. I grip her thighs, hold her against the wall, and work her with my tongue until she whimpers.
When I suck her clit between my lips, she fists her hand in my hair hard enough to hurt.
“Tony…”
I push two fingers inside her while keeping my mouth where it is. She’s soaked. I can feel it on my chin and my lips. Her thighs tremble against my hands, and I know she’s getting close.
“Don’t stop,” she orders. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I don’t. I keep the rhythm steady and add a third finger before I curl them to hit the spot that makes her cry out. She comes hard against my mouth, pulsing around my fingers, and the sound she makes is half prayer, half sob.
I stand and kiss her while she shakes. She can taste herself on my lips. The knowledge makes me hard enough to hurt.
“Inside me,” she demands breathlessly. “Right now.”
I free myself from my jeans and lift her. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I pin her against the wall with my hips. We’re both panting, staring at each other in this awful cell where everything between us has shattered.
“Tell me to stop,” I say.
“Fuck you.”
She reaches between us, takes me in her hand, and guides me to her entrance. I push inside in one stroke, both making sounds that echo off the concrete walls.
She’s so tight and hot that I have to freeze, or this will be over embarrassingly fast.
Once I’ve caught my breath, I pull almost all the way out and thrust back in hard enough to make her gasp. She digs her nails into my shoulders, and the sting just makes everything more real.
We find a rhythm that’s more battle than anything tender. Every thrust is punctuated by her nails breaking skin through my shirt, her teeth on my neck, or my name in her mouth like a curse.
“I hate you,” she whispers against my lips.
“I know.”
“I hate that I still want you.”
“I know that, too.”
I feel her tightening around me, and I adjust my angle to hit deeper as she buries her face in my neck to muffle her sounds.
