He slides one finger inside me, and my palm slams flat against the desk.
"You're shaking," he murmurs.
"Good shaking." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "Don't confuse it."
The corner of his mouth lifts, just barely. And he adds a second finger, curling against a spot that makes my spine leave the desk entirely. My grip finds his hair, pulling at the strands, and the sound he makes against my neck. God. I want to record that sound and play it every night before sleep for the rest of my life.
"I need you," I say, and the words aren't careful or measured. "I need. Elio, I need."
He understands. He always understands.
He pulls me off the desk and we don't make it far.
We don't even try.
The rug on his study floor barely covers cold tile, but neither of us cares because caring about comfort is a luxury for people who aren't this desperate, and Iamdesperate. I am starving, and the hunger isn't the compound kind. This hunger is mine. Chosen. Wanted.
I push him onto his back. Straddle him. Put myself on top because I need to be the one who decides how this goes. He lets me. The hands that hovered, that shook, that asked my body for permission with their hesitation. They settle on my thighs as I reach between us and wrap my hand around him.
He's so hard, and the sound he makes when I stroke him once, slow, base to tip, is a sound I'm going to keep in a locked box in my memory forever.
I rise up on my knees. Line him up. And sink down.
Slow.
The stretch is, fuck, it's been weeks and my body has to remember how to do this, how to open, how to take him again. I forgot how big he is, and my lack of patience isn't helping matters. I just want him inside me, want to feel him stretch me, fill me up. For hours and hours. I'm crazed with need, and I'm not even halfway down. Every nerve ending is lit up andscreaming, that same insane sensitivity from his mouth on my breasts. But now it's magnified by a thousand.
"Fuck." His grip tightens on my thighs. His jaw is clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping, and his eyes… They're focused on me like I'm the only thing that exists, like the rest of the room dissolved and there's just this. Just me on top of him with his cock inside me and my thighs shaking and tears already tracking down my cheeks because the sensation is too big to hold without leaking.
"Move," he says. Low. Wrecked. Not a command. A surrender disguised as one. "Violet. Please."
I move.
Slow at first, testing, lifting my hips and sinking back down, finding the rhythm that makes the angle hit right, and when I find it. Oh, when I find it. The sound that comes out of me is not a word. His hips flex up to meet mine, involuntary, and the depth of it punches the air from my lungs.
"There," I manage. "Right there..."
He meets me stroke for stroke, letting me set the pace, letting me control the depth, but his hips know exactly what mine need and the coordination between us is obscene. Like his body learned mine in those few days before I was taken from him and filed the information somewhere permanent.
My movements become faster. My thighs burning, my rib protesting, my brain officially offline except for the animal part. The one that chases one thing only. I'm drowning in the sensation of him inside me, in how my clit grinds against him every time I roll my hips forward. In the wet, obscene sound of us together that should be embarrassing and is actually the hottest thing I've ever heard.
"Mine," he rumbles with my nipple between his teeth. His grip on my thighs will bruise, and I welcome it. I want the marks,I want proof on my skin that comes from wanting, not from hurting. "You're mine, Violet."
"Yours." The word falls out without permission. "Yours, yours, I'm..."
His hand moves between us. Finds my clit. And the first press of his thumb, circling, timed perfectly to the rhythm I've set, nearly sends me through the ceiling.
"Oh god. Oh fuck. Elio..."
"That's it." His voice is raw gravel. "Take what you need."
I'm taking it. I'm taking everything. Riding him harder now, chasing the thing that's building at the base of my spine, and his thumb doesn't stop, doesn't falter, while his free hand comes up to cup the back of my neck and pulls my forehead down to his so we're breathing the same air, sharing the same oxygen. His eyes are open as are mine, and it's the most naked I've ever been with another human being.
His hips stutter. His breathing fractures. "I can't. Violet, I'm going to..."
"Don't stop. Come with m-aaaaah." I explode as the orgasm rips through me from the clit outward, radiating up my spine and down my thighs and into places I didn't know could hold sensation. I clench around him so hard he groans, a sound ripped from somewhere deep, and I feel him let go. Feel him pulse inside me, his hips driving up in three hard, desperate thrusts that push me over a second edge I didn't know was there, and I break apart on top of him. Sobbing, shaking, coming so hard the world ceases to exist. His arms come around me as I collapse against his chest, and he holds me through all of it. Doesn't pull away. Doesn't ask if I'm okay. Just holds me and says my name. Over and over into my hair while his own heartbeat slams against my ear.
"Violet. Violet. Violet."
