Mouth gone. Fingers gone. Cold air flooding the space between us where there was heat.
The sound she makes is devastated. Her hips lift toward nothing, chasing contact that isn't there anymore. Her hands tighten in my hair, trying to pull me back, and I hold my position — still, unhurried, watching her face in the dark.
"Logan —" Her voice breaks on my name. The frustration in it is raw and genuine and goes straight to my cock like a live wire. "Don't —"
I look up at her. Her face flushed even in the dark, her lips parted, her chest heaving. She was seconds from coming and I took it.
"I decide," I say. Quiet. Certain. "Not you."
She makes a sound that might be a curse. Her head drops back. One hand goes from my hair to cover her own face.
"Okay," she says finally. Barely air, barely a word. "Okay."
Her hips settle. She understands.
I give her a moment with it.
Then I move up over her body.
I finally free my cock and settle between her thighs.
She's looking at me. The fear still present in her eyes, still real, that bright animal awareness that runs through everything between us. And underneath it: the want. The two things woven together the way they always are with her, inseparable, each one feeding the other.
I push inside her.
“Take it. That’s my girl.”
She's tight and slick and hot and the sensation moves through me like a current — the release of it, the relief, everything I've been holding back for weeks finally allowed to be free. She makes a sound that's not a word, her head tipping back, her whole body arching up to take me deeper. I hold there.
I watch her face while her body adjusts to mine.
The widening of her eyes. Her mouth moving around a breath she hasn't managed yet. And the fear still threaded through all of it — still present, still mine, still the gift she gave by running into the dark when I said to.
"Look at me," I say.
Her eyes find mine, and she doesn’t shy away from what she sees.
Something gives way in my chest.
I begin to move.
The rhythm comes easy — her body answering each thrust, hips rising to meet mine, hands finding my shirt and gripping the fabric with both fists. She's warm everywhere I'm not, her thighs against mine, her breasts against my chest when I come down over her.
I push deeper. She exhales a broken sound and her grip on my shirt tightens and her cunt tightens with it, clenching around my cock.
The pace builds. Her sounds multiply — small and helpless, sounds she can't manage because she doesn't have the capacity for management right now. I've taken it from her. Her head tips back and her back arches and her legs wrap around me, heels pressing into my back, urging me harder.
"Logan —"
I drive into her and she loses the rest of it.
Her eyes stay on mine. Even when they want to close — I can see the effort it takes, the moment she drags them back — she holds my gaze. This is the most undone I've ever been. Her watching me while I fuck her, the fear still in her face along with everything else, refusing to look away from any version of what I am.
I bring a hand between us.
My thumb finds her clit and she gasps — sharp, like contact with something electric — her hips stuttering in the rhythm, her body suddenly too much and not enough at once. I keep the pressure steady and I don't stop moving and her sounds go from small to desperate.
"Please." The word breaks out of her. "Please —"
