Her face is still streaked with tears. Her hands are still shaking.
But her eyes are clear.
I grab her face and kiss her.
Not soft. Not tentative. She grabs the front of my t-shirt and pulls me closer, kissing me back with a desperation I wasn't expecting.
I should stop this.
I don't.
My hands find her waist. Her hips. The curve of her spine as I pull her against me. She makes a sound against my mouth, something between a sob and a moan, and I swallow it.
Her nails dig into my shoulders. Her teeth catch my lip.
I'm using this. Using her. Using whatever this is between us to find something solid while everything else falls apart.
I walk her backward until she hits the table. The one Frank sat at when I put a bullet in his head. The one they scrubbed clean of his blood.
I lift her onto it.
Her legs wrap around my waist. Her hands find my belt. She's crying and kissing me and trying to pull my t-shirt off all at once, and I'm letting her, helping her, my own hands pulling at the hem of her sleep shirt.
"William." She gasps my name against my lips.
I pull the shirt over her head. She's there in front of me, skin and lace and the rise and fall of her chest. I put my mouth on her throat. Feel her pulse hammering against my lips.
I work my way down. Her collarbone. The curve of her breast above the lace. I pull the fabric down and take her nipple inmy mouth, and she arches off the table with a sound that goes straight through me and makes my cock push hard against my pants. The ache is almost too much to bear.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her sleep pants and pull them down. She lifts her hips to help me, and I drag them off along with her underwear, dropping them somewhere on the floor.
She's bare on the table now. The table where Frank sat. Where I ended him.
I don't think about that.
I push her knees apart and lower my mouth to her.
She gasps. Her hand flies to my hair, gripping hard. I lick into her, tasting her, feeling her thighs tense on either side of my head. She's wet. So wet already.
I flatten my tongue against her clit, and she jerks against me.
"Oh God." Her voice is ragged. Broken.
I don't stop. I work her with my mouth, my tongue, learning what makes her hips buck and what makes her grip tighten in my hair. She's panting now, her back arching off the table, and I slide two fingers inside her while I keep my mouth on her clit.
She clenches around me. Tight. Hot.
"William." My name sounds like a prayer. Or a curse.
I curl my fingers and suck her clit into my mouth, and she shatters. Her whole body shakes, her thighs clamping around my head, her hand pulling my hair hard enough to sting. I work her through it, gentling my tongue as she comes down.
When I straighten up, she's staring at me. Chest heaving. Eyes dark.
I push my sleep pants down. Her gaze drops, watching as I pull my cock out. It's almost painful, the blood pounding through it. I give it a slow stroke and hiss through my teeth.
Precum gleams on the swollen head.
She's staring at it. Eyes wide. Something like awe on her face.
