When he lays me back I go without argument, which is not something I do often, and I think briefly that I should probably find that alarming and then he puts his mouth on my throat and I stop thinking about it.
"Tell me what you want," he says against my skin.
"Less talking."
He laughs, low, the sound of it vibrating against my collarbone. His hands move over me like he has all night and means to use it, finding the places that make me pull in a breath and coming back to them, learning me.
"Dutch."
He works his way down my body until I'm gripping the sheets and my hips are moving of their own accord and he hasn't even touched my pussy yet.
"Please," I hear myself say.
"There it is."
His mouth finds my pussy and I stop being quiet about any of it.
My fingers twist into his hair and he makes a low sound against me that I feel everywhere. He takes his time. That's the thing — he takes his time like he's got nothing else to do, like he wants to learn exactly what wrecks me and keep doing it until I can't think straight. His tongue circles my clit slow and then slower, and I'm already embarrassingly close, already pulling at his hair, already saying things I won't remember.
"There! Don't you dare stop!"
He doesn't stop. He slides two fingers inside me and curls them and keeps his mouth working and I shatter, back arching clean off the bedroll, thighs clamped around his head, the orgasm rolling through me in waves that don't quit. He works me through every second of it.
I'm still shaking when he comes back up my body. I get my hand around his cock before he's finished moving. He’s thick and hard and he hisses through his teeth when I stroke him, his hips pushing forward without permission.
"Avery."
"I know." I pull him down. "Now."
He pushes inside me and we both go still.
That moment. That specific moment where it's just the fullness of him and his weight and his eyes on my face, serious and completely present. It's the thing I wasn't ready for. Not the wanting. The being seen while wanting.
Then I roll my hips and he groans and the moment breaks open into something better.
He fucks me deep and steady, one hand braced by my head and the other gripping my hip, and I wrap my legs around him and take everything he gives me and ask for more. He gives me more. His mouth finds my throat, my jaw, comes back to my mouth, and I taste myself on him and feel that everywhere too.
"Harder."
He gives me harder. Drives into me until the bedroll is skidding across the floor and I'm making sounds I've never made for anyone and I don't care, I don't care about any of it except more.
"I've got you," he says against my throat, rough and low. “But, I’m gonna come. Fuck!”
"Don't stop!" My nails rake down his back. "Come inside me, please.” I don’t care about the risks. I want to feel him lose it. I want us to be joined in every way.
He doesn't stop. He reaches between us and presses his thumb to my clit and keeps moving and I come apart completely, clenching around him, his name the only word I have.
"Inside," I manage, tightening my legs around him, pulling him deep. "I want to feel you."
He makes a sound that's almost pained and then he's there buried to the hilt, his whole body shuddering, cock pulsing as he spills into me hot and deep. His hips jerk through it, losing the rhythm completely, and I hold him through every second of it with my legs locked around him and my hands gripping his back and my face pressed to his neck.
He collapses against me, heavy and breathing hard, and I feel him everywhere. The weight of him. The warmth of it still inside me.
We lie there for a long time not saying anything.
Afterward he stays. I don't tell him to leave.
I stare at the ceiling in the dark and think: I am in serious trouble.
