"I know baby. Not yet."
"But--"
"Trust me."
I do. Completely.
His finger slows and I nearly sob at the loss. But then he builds me back up, relentless, until he's found the perfect rhythm that possesses me.
"There's my girl," he says, satisfaction in his voice.
Something in my chest clenches at the words.
"Take what you want, Molly." His voice is strained in my ear. "Take what you need."
I lean into it, lean into him. The orgasm rises, racing toward his fingertips like a wildfire.
"Grey--" My voice breaks.
"I know. I can feel it." His finger maintains that perfect rhythm.
It coils in my belly, at the base of my spine, throbs between my legs where he owns me.
"I don't--I can't--"
"Yes, you can." His mouth is on my throat again, lips and teeth and tongue. "You're so close baby." His voice is gravelly and raw. "So fucking close." He sucks hard on my pulse point, bites gently. "Let go for me, Molly."
"I can't--" I don't know why I'm fighting it.
"I promise, you can."
"I'm scared--” I don't know where the words come from, but they're true. It's all too big, too much.
He slows, doesn't stop. Just eases. Gives me space to breathe.
"Look at me."
I force my eyes open. He's leaning all the way over me, braced on one arm, his face inches from mine. Pale eyes locked on me, boring into me, seeing me.
"I've got you," he says firmly. So certain. "You're safe. I promise."
And I know it's true. Grey won't let me fall. Won't let me break. He'll catch me.
I nod, sigh as I melt into him, into his touch. "Okay."
"Okay."
And then the coil tightens again, curling and twisting and winding tighter. His finger resumes that perfect rhythm, and this time I don't fight it.
"Let go," he whispers against my lips.
It hits me without warning, like a wave. Crashes over me, pulls me under, drags me away. My breath kicks out of me with a cry--his name, maybe, I can't tell. Can't hear over the roaring in my ears. My body seizes, every muscle locking tight. Pleasure radiates outward from his touch, pulsing, throbbing, racing through my veins like electricity.
I'm gasping into his shoulder, clutching him like a lifeline. Like he's the only solid thing in a world crumbling away from me.
"Easy," he soothes, one hand on my thigh, the other reaching to cup the back of my neck, his voice soft in my ear. "I've got you. I've got you."
Little aftershocks pulse through me, drawing the final jerks and gasps. My whole body is trembling, quaking. His finger barely moves now, just rests against me, feeling me pulse and flutter and clench.
