He looks at it, his face molten, then laps his tongue around mine and sucks it in his mouth.
Our mouths clash, raw and demanding as we moan into each other, the sounds guttural, like we're trying to consume each other whole.
When I come, he kneels immediately, mouth devouring the release straight from me, licking me through every last tremble. Then he rises and drives back into me—no preamble, just raw, unchecked hunger.
My body pitches forward, and I whimper against the window, fogging it.
"You're leaving me," he breathes, the words scraped raw. "You know how much I hate that. It drives me insane."
"I know," I gasp, feeling him twitching.
"Will you miss me, baby?" His voice thickens.
"Yeah."
"How much?" he says, moving inside me.
“A lot,” I moan. “What are you going to do about it?”
He exhales roughly against my neck, almost a growl. "You know what I'll do about it, Emma?" He drags my hands above my head and plants them beside me, his palms swallowing mine whole. His iron body cages me completely as he kisses my shoulder, almost too tender for what he says next.
"I'll make you sore. So sore that every step you take, you’ll think of me. And every time you sit, you’ll ache and remember I was in you.”
Oh God. My knees wobble—and secretly I'm begging.Yes. Do it. Brand me so I carry you with me.
"You're crazy," I whisper, breath fractured.
"Crazy?" His laugh is breathy. "Yeah. I'm also very devoted to you. Watch."
His fingers lace over mine, trapping my hands to the glass before I can think of running, and then—he drives into me with full length. My back arches, the pain from feeling him stretching me mixing with pleasure until they’re indistinguishable. My hips jerk back, instinctively trying to meet him. Then he does it again, faster, harder, and a loud, helpless moan breaks from my throat. As if I'm begging. Begging him to continue, not to stop.
He fucks me like a man etching his soul into me, the glass rattling in its frame under our hands, threatening to drop us thirty floors.
I don't care if we do, or if I cry so loud I could wake the whole city. Let the world see us. Let them know that I want this to last forever.
Ben slides his hands down my thighs, lifting me slightly, angling me the way he knows ruins us both, and his breath shudders against my neck as he settles back inside, deeper than before—so deep my vision doubles.
Something in him snaps—his hips piston with brutal force, his mouth on my neck turned ravenous.
Tears sting. My face burns. I'm back on my toes, whimpering with each thrust. It's too much.
Too. Much. God. My. Body. Will. Break God..
"Ben..." I wail his name, air hammered out of my lungs.
His gaze locks onto mine in the mirror—infatuated, unhinged, completely gone. This must be the moment he talked about—I can tell he wants me even closer, and he won't slow down.
And sure enough, he only tightens around me—his grip, his breath, the brutal precision of his strokes. His finger lands on my clit, rubbing it feverously. His shoulders tense, the tremor running through his thighs. He’s getting close, and so am I.
The pleasure starts curling low in my belly, sharp and rising, turning the pain into pure heat.
"Ben..."
My knees buckle, but I’m caught between the glass and him, nowhere to go, nothing to hold on to but him.
“Ben!” I cry, louder, raw, unable to hold it anymore.
The moment the plea leaves my throat, his hips slam forward, his fingers dig into my hips as if he’s bracing for impact and he grunts.
