The question carries more weight than I intend. Because I don't know what this is. Don't know what we're doing or where it leads or how I'll face myself in the morning.
All I know is that right now, in this moment, she's mine.
I unclasp her bra with hands that aren't quite steady. Pull it away and let it fall. Her breasts are perfect. Small and round, nipples already peaked from the cold or from want. I lower my head and take one into my mouth.
She cries out. Her back arches off the bed, pressing more of herself against my tongue. I suck and lick and graze my teeth over the sensitive peak until she's writhing beneath me.
"Max, please."
"Please what?"
"More. I need more."
I switch to her other breast, giving it the same attention while my hand travels south. Over her stomach, past the waistband of her underwear, to the heat between her thighs.
She's soaking wet.
"Jesus, Claire." I groan against her skin. "You're drenched."
"It's your fault."
"Damn right it is."
I slide one finger inside her and she gasps. Tight. So fucking tight. I add a second finger and start to move, slow and deliberate, learning the rhythm that makes her gasp and moan.
"You feel incredible," I murmur against her throat. "So hot and wet. I could do this for hours."
"Please don't." She grabs my wrist, stilling my hand. "I want you inside me. Now."
"Patience."
"I've been patient for three days. I've been patient for ten years." Her eyes lock onto mine, blazing with need. "I'm done being patient."
Something snaps inside me.
I rear back and strip off my jeans. Then her underwear, tossed aside with hands that shake from the effort of not simply taking. She's spread out before me like an offering. Dark skin against white sheets. Curves and valleys and secrets I'm desperate to explore.
"You're fucking mine," I growl as I settle between her thighs. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Max. Only yours."
The words unlock something primal. I notch myself at her entrance and push inside in one long stroke.
We both cry out.
She's tight around me. Impossibly tight. Her inner walls grip me like a fist as I struggle to hold still, to give her time to adjust.
"Move," she demands. "Please, Max. Move."
I pull back and thrust forward. Hard. She gasps and wraps her legs around me, pulling me deeper.
We find a rhythm. Slow at first, then faster as desperation takes over. The headboard slams against the wall. The bed creaks beneath us. None of it matters. Nothing matters exceptthe feel of her beneath me, around me, taking everything I have to give.
"Look at me," I command.
