"I want this."
His fingers slip beneath the fabric, and I gasp at the contact.
"Please," I breathe. "I need?—"
"I know what you need." He enters me with two fingers, and I cry out. "Let me take care of you."
And he does. His fingers work me expertly, finding the exact rhythm and pressure that makes my knees weak. I'm making sounds I've never made before, whimpering and gasping against his shoulder as he drives me higher.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Let me hear you. Let everyone hear you."
I'm so close already. It's been so long, and I'm wound so tight, and he's so good at this.
"Look at me," he commands.
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze.
"I want to watch you come," he says. "I want to see your face when you fall apart."
His thumb finds my clit, and I shatter.
The orgasm crashes through me, stealing my breath and my thoughts and everything else. I cry out, clutching at his shoulders, my whole body shaking with the force of it.
"Beautiful," he says roughly, biting my shoulder. "Fucking beautiful."
Before I can catch my breath, he's lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist. I hear the sound of his belt, the rasp of a zipper.
"Wait," I manage. "Wait?—"
He pauses, and I see something flicker in his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Protection. We should?—"
"I'm clean." His voice is rough. "Tested regularly. Are you?"
"Yes, but?—"
"But what?"
I should insist. I should be responsible. But my brain is foggy from the orgasm and the vodka and the sheer overwhelming presence of him.
"I'm on the shot," I hear myself say. "Birth control. But we should still?—"
"Tell me what you want, Seraphina." He positions himself at my entrance but doesn't push forward. "Protection or no protection. Your choice."
It's the fact that he's giving me a choice that does it. That he's pausing, waiting, letting me decide even though I can feel how much he wants this.
"No protection," I whisper. "I want to feel you."
His eyes darken, and they almost black. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
He pushes inside in one hard thrust, and I cry out at the intrusion. It's too much, too fast, too intense. But he doesn't slow down. His hands grip my hips as he holds me against the window, fucking me with a brutal rhythm that has me seeing stars.
"Oh God," I gasp. "Oh fuck?—"
"Not God." He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in. "Just me."
