"Fuck," he breathes against my throat. "You're soaked."
"Been thinking about you." The words come out stuttered, broken by the slow circles he's tracing around my clit. "Been thinking about this."
"Yeah?" His fingers dip lower, teasing at my entrance. "What specifically?"
"Your hands. Your mouth." I rock my hips against his touch, chasing more friction. "The way you look at me like you want to eat me alive."
"I do want to eat you alive." He pushes one finger inside me, and I cry out at the sensation. "But first, I want to hear you beg."
The stretch is delicious, not nearly enough. I clench around him, trying to draw him deeper, but he holds maddeningly still.
"Atticus.Please."
"Please what?"
"More. I need more."
He adds a second finger, and the sound that escapes me is somewhere between a moan and a sob. His thumb finds my clit, pressing in tight circles while his fingers work inside me, and the combination makes my vision blur at the edges.
"Like this?" His voice is rough now, that composed facade starting to crack. "Is this what you need?"
"Yes. No. I don't—" I can't form complete sentences, can't think past the mounting pressure building in my core. "I need you inside me."
"I am inside you."
"You know what I mean."
He curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes. "Say it, firebird. Tell me exactly what you want."
"I want your knot." The words tumble out, shameless and desperate. "I want you to fuck me until I can't remember why I was ever afraid of this. I want you to—I want you to bite me—" I break off with a gasp as he adds a third finger. "God, Atticus,please."
His jaw clenches. His hands grip my hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. And then he pushes inside me in one slow, devastating thrust.
I cry out at the stretch. He's big—bigger than I always expect, even after all the times we've done this—and my body struggles to accommodate him. But the burn is good. Perfect. Exactly what I need to anchor me in this moment.
"Okay?" His voice is strained, every muscle in his body locked tight with the effort of holding still.
"Move." I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. "Move, Atticus."
He doesn't need to be told twice.
The first thrust knocks the breath from my lungs. The second makes me see stars. By the third, I've lost any ability to form words, reduced to a litany of moans and gasps and his name repeated like a prayer.
Atticus fucks like he does everything else—with complete focus and devastating precision. Each stroke hits exactly where I need it, angles shifting until he finds the spot that makes me scream. His thumb finds my clit again, rubbing in counterpoint to his thrusts, and the dual sensation is almost too much.
"That's it." His voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. "Let me hear you. Let me feel you."
The pressure builds and builds, coiling tighter with every snap of his hips. I'm close, so close, teetering on the edge of something enormous.
"Atticus." His name comes out broken. "I'm going to?—"
"I know." He leans down, mouth finding mine in a messy, desperate kiss. "Come for me, Phoenix. Let go."
The orgasm hits like a tidal wave.
I shatter around him, walls clenching rhythmically as the pleasure crashes through me in endless, overwhelming pulses. He fucks me through it, prolonging the sensation until I'm sobbing against his shoulder, overstimulated and wrung out and still somehow wanting more.
"Fuck." He buries his face in my neck, hips stuttering. "Fuck, you feel so good?—"
