She pulls my shirt over my head.
Her palms press flat against my chest, my stomach, tracing down. I watch her face while she does it. The way her lips part.She's not performing. Just here, just present, just looking at me like I'm something worth having.
I push her onto her back.
She looks up at me, and I take one second I probably shouldn't, memorizing her in this moment. Because this is the woman who flushed two thousand euros of cocaine without flinching. Who held a bucket under my chin for three days. Who read my journals and said nothing that wasn't worth saying.
My hand slides under the t-shirt, finds the warm skin of her waist. She shivers.
"You're thinking again," she says.
"Occupational hazard."
I pull the t-shirt over her head, and the almost-smile disappears.
She's perfect. I've had more women than I can count, and none of them looked like this, like they were actually here, like it actually mattered. She's lying in the strip of light from the hall, and I want to put my mouth on every part of her.
So I do.
I work down her throat, her collarbone, the curve of her breast. I take her nipple into my mouth, and she arches off the bed, her fingers raking into my hair, gripping hard. I bite down lightly, and she makes a sound I feel in my cock. I do it again. Her hips roll up against me, and I press down, give her something to grind against, feel how much she wants this.
Good.
I want her desperate before I'm done.
My hand slides down her stomach. Her breath catches. I find the waistband of the underwear and pull it down slowly, watching her face the whole time. Her teeth catch her lip. Her chest rises and falls too fast.
I push her thighs apart and put my mouth on her.
She gasps, and her hips jerk up, but I press them down, hold her still. I run my tongue along her slowly, feel her shudder, feel how wet she already is. I find her clit and circle it, slow and deliberate, and her thighs clamp against my head. I keep the pressure steady, working her in long strokes until her hips are fighting against my grip, until she's rocking up toward my mouth, chasing more.
I push two fingers inside her.
She clenches around them immediately, tight and hot, and I groan against her. I curl them forward, and she arches clean off the mattress, a sharp cry tearing out of her. I do it again, slower this time, watching her fall apart while I work her clit with my tongue and my fingers fuck her in a rhythm that has her thighs shaking, her fingers knotting in my hair, her whole body pulling taut.
She tastes so fucking good, I don't want to stop.
She's tightening around my fingers now, clenching in waves, and the sounds she's making are nothing like the careful, composed woman I met a week ago.
"Please." The word comes out ragged. "William, please."
I keep going, mouth and fingers, until she comes apart completely, shuddering, gasping my name, her nails drawing blood from my scalp.
I lift my head and look at her. Wrecked. Eyes dark, chest heaving, hair spread across the pillow. Still trembling.
Mine. The thought is immediate and wrong, and I don't fucking care.
I move back up her body, my cock so hard it's painful, and she reaches for me before I've even settled between her thighs. Her hand wraps around me, and I grit my teeth against the pressure of it, the slow stroke she pulls from base to tip. I'm already leaking. Already so close to the edge from just thesounds she made that I have to press my forehead to hers and breathe.
"Aoife." A warning.
She guides me to her, and I push in slowly, and fuck. She's so tight and wet and hot around me that my vision goes white at the edges. I feel every inch of her taking me, feel her stretching around my cock, and she makes this low, broken sound into my neck that nearly finishes me before I've started.
I go still. Lock every muscle. Let her feel the full weight of me.
"Okay?" I manage.
"Don't stop." She wraps her legs around me and pulls me deeper, and I sink the last inch into her, and we both go rigid for a second, just breathing, just feeling it.
