"There," I gasp. "Fuck. Right there."
His hips twitch. Instinct. He wants to thrust up into me, I can feel the effort it takes him not to, the way his muscles bunch and release, bunch and release. I put my hand on his stomach and press down.
"I said don't move."
"You're going to fucking kill me."
"You'll die happy."
I ride him harder. Faster. Bracing my hands on his chest, using his body as leverage, my hips working in a rhythm that's building heat in my stomach and pulling sounds out of both of us. The bed creaks. The headboard taps the wall. The cabin fills with the wet sounds of our bodies meeting and separating and meeting again.
His hand slides between us. Thumb finding my clit. I jolt, my rhythm breaking, and he circles me with a pressure that's exactly right, firm and focused, matching the pace of my hips.
"I thought I said don't move," I manage.
"My hips aren't moving. My hand is." He circles again. Presses. My thighs shake. "There's a difference."
"Asshole."
"You like it."
I do. God, I do. His thumb works my clit while I ride him and the dual sensation is overwhelming, building on itself, layer on layer, the stretch of him inside me and the pressure on my clit and the friction of the angle that hits the spot that makes sparks across my vision. My breathing goes ragged. My hips stutter.
"Let go," he says. "I've got you."
"I know." My voice rasps on the second word. "I know you do."
The orgasm builds slow and hits hard. It starts in my belly, a coiling heat that tightens and tightens until I can't breathe, and then it snaps. My whole body seizes. I cry out, his name and something wordless, and I feel myself clench around him in waves, pulsing, gripping, my nails digging into his chest hard enough to leave crescents in his skin. My back arches and my eyes squeeze shut, and I ride it out, hips still moving, grinding down on him through every aftershock.
"Fuck." His voice is shredded. "Charlotte. I need to move. Please."
"Move."
His hands grip my hips, and he thrusts up into me and the force of it punches the air out of my lungs. He fucks me from below, hard and deep, his hips snapping up to meet mine with a ferocity he's been leashing for the last ten minutes. The angle is brutal. Perfect. I'm still pulsing from the orgasm, and every thrust sends another wave through me, smaller, sharper, stacking on each other.
"Come for me," I say. "I want to feel your cock twitch inside me."
He drives into me three more times, each one harder than the last, and then he breaks. His body locks. His fingers dig into my hips. He says my name like it's being ripped out of him, rough and guttural and desperate, and I feel him pulse inside me, thick and hot even through the condom, and the sensation pushes me into a second orgasm I wasn't expecting. Smaller. Deeper. A tremor that rolls through me and leaves me gasping and shaking on top of him.
I collapse against his chest.
His arms wrap around me. We're both breathing hard, both slicked with sweat, both twitching. His heart is hammering under my cheek, fast and wild, and mine is matching it. Two systems synced. Running the same frequency.
His hand finds the back of my neck. His fingers press against my vertebrae. One. Two. Three. The gesture I've been doing sincethe first night, the grounding, the checking. He does it for me. Counts for me. Finds my spine and confirms it's there.
My eyes burn.
"Don't," I whisper. "If you're going to be sweet, I'm going to cry, and I don't want to cry."
His fingers keep pressing. Four. Five.
"Okay," I say. "Fine."
The tears come. Not many. Not the heaving kind. The quiet kind. The kind that leak out of the corners of your eyes and roll down your cheeks and drip onto the chest of a man who counts your vertebrae like he's been doing it his whole life. A sound comes out of me that I don't recognize, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, muffled against his skin.
He holds me tighter. Doesn't speak. Doesn't ask if I'm okay. Just holds me and presses his fingers against my spine and lets me leak all over him like a pipe that finally burst after years of pressure.
It lasts maybe thirty seconds. Then I'm done. I wipe my face against his shoulder.
