"Scary. Good. Both."
I kissed his jaw and his neck, finding the spot below his ear that made him gasp.
"I want you to touch me like you mean it. Not like I'm fragile."
He gripped my hips hard enough to leave marks. I groaned.
"Like that?"
"Yeah. Definitely like that."
I rocked forward. The friction made us both moan. "You're killing me," Adrian breathed.
"Good."
I ground down. Watched his face—eyes fluttering, jaw clenched, fingers digging into my hips.
"Look at me."
He opened his eyes.
"I want to see you. The whole time."
I reached between us. Palmed him through his jeans. He was hard, straining, and when I squeezed, his hips jerked.
"Can I?"
"God, yes."
I unbuckled his belt, popped the button, and slowly pulled the zipper down. When I got my hand inside and wrapped my fingers around his cock, skin to skin, he whimpered.
"I know."
I stroked him slowly.
"Off," I said, tugging his jeans.
He lifted his hips. He pulled his jeans and boxers down, then tugged on my sweats. For a moment, we just looked at each other. Both bare, both hard, and both breathing like we'd finished a shift.
I stretched out on top of him. Skin to skin. Almost overwhelming. My dick slid against his.
"Tell me what you want," he said against my mouth.
"This. Your hands everywhere."
His hands roamed—back, ass, thighs. Exploring me. When he squeezed my ass and pulled me tighter, I saw stars.
"Don't stop."
We moved faster, more desperate. I buried my face in his neck. His hand slid between us, wrapping around both of us. The sensation punched the air out of my lungs.
He stroked us together—hand tight, rhythm perfect.
"You feel so good," he said.
"Harder."
He squeezed tighter, moved faster. I bit down on his shoulder—not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to leave a mark.
