Her fingers, small but strong, dug tenaciously into the muscle, and he could feel her trembling. He didn’t slam into her. Instead, he bent and claimed her mouth, a deliberate, possessive kiss that bordered on sacrament. While his tongue coaxed hers into submission, he pressed just his engorged head against her folds, teasing, letting her get used to the sensation, drawing it out so the anticipation burned through both of them. He traced the seam of her with his crown, letting her feel the heft of him, and every time she tried to tilt her hips or urge him indeeper, he countered with his own strength, a subtle tug-of-war for control fought on the battlefield of skin and nerve endings.
Her arms snaked up and around his shoulders, nails biting into the skin at the back of his neck, and she kissed him with a ferocity that nearly startled him, her tongue hot and hungry, her breath coming in short, desperate puffs between licks and bites. At the same time her upper body scrambled for him, the muscles of her pelvis rolled and flexed while her thighs locked around his waist, calves pressing into the small of his back in a futile effort to draw him in.
He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but his presence all around her, and planted his knee higher on the bed to give himself better leverage, leverage that kept her from taking more than he wanted to give.
She moaned in pure frustration, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest, and he swallowed it whole in their kiss, loving how unraveled she’d become. It might be torture for her, but it was exquisite agony for him too. He wanted her so badly he could barely think straight. The only reason he was able to keep from plunging into her was his own iron discipline, honed over a lifetime of controlling needs and compulsions. Even so, he could feel sweat prickling at his scalp, trickling down the side of his face, and the muscles in his arms and back tensed with the effort to hold back.
Her hands slid down his body, over the corded ridges of his back, then lower to cup his ass, fingernails digging in as she tried to force him forward. He let her think she was making progress, rewarded her with a shallow thrust, just the first inch, and her body seized around him with a pulsing, involuntary squeeze that nearly undid him on thespot. She was so fucking tight, and he was so fucking hard that the friction made his vision go white for a second.
He kissed down the line of her jaw, his breath hot against her skin, and then bit gently at her earlobe, letting his voice rasp into her ear. “You want more?” he asked, not really a question, more an invocation.
“Please,” she whispered, and it was the sound of someone who had been starving for a very long time.
He pressed in another fraction, and she arched her back, pushing her breasts up into his chest. The scrape of their bodies, skin against skin, made every nerve ending flare. He moved one hand to cup her jaw, forcing her to look him in the eye, and even as he slid in a little deeper, he studied her face, every shift, every flicker, every hint of discomfort or pleasure. He was attuned to her like a deep-sea diver listening for the whale song beneath the surface.
She was flushed, pupils blown wide, lips parted in a perfect O of shock, and he saw how quickly the pain of being stretched gave way to raw, gasping need. Her inner walls clenched around him, the spasms drawing him in, and she whimpered again, this time less frustration and more overwhelmed. He felt her legs tighten around his hips. Her heels dug into the small of his back, urging him in. He couldn’t help but grin at her feral tendencies.
As he pressed in a little deeper, he could feel the slick heat of her, the way her body opened for him and took him in. “You’re doing so fucking good,” he said, his voice a little strained. “So perfect.”
He went slow, so fucking slow, not just because he wanted to savor every millimeter but because he wanted her to register it, feel every part of him filling her, wanted to see her realize she could take it—wanted her to know she could trust him not to hurt her, even as he took control. Every time she clenched around him, every time shewhimpered or gasped, he rewarded her with a kiss or a gentle stroke of her hair, a murmured encouragement, a dirty word whispered just for her.
“Do you want all of me?” he asked, and it was a half-teasing, half-honest question.
She nodded, eyes wide and bright with tears she didn’t bother to hide. “Yes. Please.”
He pressed forward, inch by inch, and felt the resistance give way to slick, perfect heat. When he bottomed out, he stilled, not just for her, but for himself, because he needed a fucking second to keep from losing it. His body was rigid, every muscle straining for control, but it was worth it just to see the look on her face, utterly wrecked, completely surrendered. For a long, trembling moment, they didn’t move, just breathed together, foreheads touching, his cock buried deep inside her, her body wrapped around him like a promise.
He started to move, slow at first, pulling out just far enough to tease her before sliding back in. The pace was deliberate and measured, yet even as he maintained control, he could feel his body wanting to drive harder, deeper, wanting to lose himself in the chaos of sensation. But he wouldn’t—not until she did. He watched her, listened to the sounds she made, felt the way her inner muscles fluttered and pulsed as he found the rhythm she needed.
The tension built, slow and inexorable, a coiling snake of need tightening in his gut. He could see the signs in her—the flush spreading down her chest, the way her nipples peaked, the way her hips moved in counterpoint to his, desperate for friction. Her eyes never left his, not even when she started to come apart, begging him not to stop.
He growled as he continued to push in and out of her, the sound raw and bordering on violence, a primitivevibration that seemed to ignite some matching animal urge in her. He didn’t yield a single inch of control, not even when her hips began to rock up to meet him, greedy for more, or when her hands tried to flex into claws on his shoulders, urging him to lose himself. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, letting the other roam her body with an impossibly gentle possessiveness that was almost reverent—though he’d deny it later if asked.
With every stroke, he felt her body open a little more and draw him a little deeper. He hooked her knee in the crook of his elbow, angling her hips so every thrust ground his pelvis against her clit. The friction drove her wild. He gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks apart, and slid his finger between them. When he found her knotted rim, wet from her arousal, he began to massage it. Her moans became cries, punctuated by desperate little gasps. Her body responded by clenching his shaft, and his control slipped.
He pushed the tip of his finger into her hole, and her back arched as she cried out, “Oh my god—oh, fuck—” she gasped, voice breaking as her nails raked red lines down his back. Her stomach contracted, her thighs started to quake. He could feel her entire body ramp up, the tension like a taut rope about to snap.
He continued to fuck her while he pulsed his finger inside her and leaned down, mouth at her ear, and growled, “Come for me, come on my cock.” He nipped her earlobe, then his teeth grazed her pulse point, tongue soothing the bite.
She shattered for him, shuddering so hard that her legs locked around his waist, squeezing him impossibly tight. Her orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave, and he felt every single aftershock in the way she milked him, and in the tears that sprang to her eyes.
The force of her climax sent him over the edge. It was utterly, terrifyingly out of his control. A surge so powerful it whitewashed his mind, demolished thought and time, and left him suspended on the brink of obliteration. For a split second, he even thought he might black out as he came with a ragged groan, a sound torn straight from somewhere deep and private inside him, the pleasure was so intense his entire body locked up, every muscle rigid. A wave of euphoria crashed over him and carried him out to sea. Tingling pleasure unlike he’d ever experienced flooded his system from the top of his head to his feet, as if every cell in his body were on the best drug, not that he’d ever done drugs a day in his life. It felt like drowning and flying and dying and being born, all at once.
When he finally returned to himself, he was slumped against her, bracing himself just enough that he didn’t crush her with his weight. Both of them were panting. Her lips found his jaw, his shoulder, his neck, she covered them with soft kisses, her hands roaming his body as if she couldn’t get enough, as if she never wanted to let him go.
He lay there, forehead pressed to hers, their chests heaving in time. For a long minute, nothing existed but the sound of their breathing mixing in the darkness, the pulse of their heartbeats slowing together, the afterglow thrumming through their veins. He was dizzy, high on her, on the feel of her, on the knowledge that this wasn’t just some casual fuck. He’d had plenty of those in his life, and it had never felt like this. Not even close.
Eventually, the urge to protect, to serve, to take care of her in the aftermath asserted itself, and he rolled off the bed, stripping off the condom and tossing it in the bathroom trash. He rinsed his hands, then soaked a towel in warm water, making sure it was perfect before bringing it back to her. She was sprawled on the rumpled sheets,one arm flung over her eyes, looking more beautiful and undone than ever. She peeked at him as he gently cleaned her off, wiping away the evidence of what they’d done, careful around the most sensitive places.
“You don’t have to do that,” she whispered, sounding half-embarrassed, half-melted.
“I want to,” he said, and it was the truth. He wanted to take care of her. Wanted her to know that she wasn’t just a body, wasn’t just a means to an end. She was the entire point.
He crawled back into bed, pulled her against his chest, and wrapped her up so tightly he worried she wouldn’t be able to move. She didn’t seem to mind. She burrowed into him, tucking her nose under his chin, and let out a soft, contented sigh that made something in his chest hurt, just a little.
They laid like that, two puzzle pieces, for a long, silent span of time. He played with her hair, winding the strands around his fingers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and his own sweat. Her body fit perfectly against his—tucked under his arm, curled up against his side, legs tangled. He realized that for the first time in months, maybe years, maybe ever, he didn’t have a weight on his chest. He felt light. Happy.
He almost drifted off, but then he felt her shift, tilting her face up so she could look at him. “Can I ask you something?”
