His hand slides under my ass, tilts my hips up, and suddenly he’s hitting something inside me that makes my vision blur.
“There,” I gasp. “Right there - don’t stop-”
He doesn’t stop. Sweat slicks his back under my hands. His breathing is ragged. I dig my nails in and he moans.
“Come for me,” he says. “I want to feel you come around me.”
“I’m trying-”
“No.” He slows down, just for a second, just long enough to torture me. “You’re holding back. Don’t. Let go.”
His face is flushed. He looks wrecked and wild and like he wants to devour me.
“I’m leaving,” I say, again, pointlessly.
“I know. Nothing matters except right now.” He drives into me, deep and slow. “You and me. Let go, Elida.”
And I do.
I shatter around him - my back arching, my entire body clenching and releasing and clenching again. He keeps thrusting through it, riding it out, and the sensation is almost too much but I don’t want him to stop.
When I come back to myself, he’s still moving. Still hard. Still watching my face.
“Don’t stop,” I say.
“I won’t.”
He pulls out, flips me onto my stomach, and enters me from behind in one motion. I cry out - surprised and overwhelmed - and he leans over me, his chest against my back, his mouth at my ear.
“You feel so fucking good,” he says.
“So do you.”
He fucks me again like that. Faster. One hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise. The other slides around to my front, finds my clit, rubs in rough circles. I’m already close again - too close - and he knows it.
“Come with me,” he says.
“Keep talking to me.”
“I’ve wanted this every second since I first saw you. Every practice. Every time you looked at me like you wanted to kill me-”
“Maybe I just wanted to fuck you.”
“Obviously.” He laughs. “Same thing with you.”
I come again - harder this time, my face pressed into the bench. He follows right after, his teeth sinking into my shoulder to muffle his own groan.
We stay like that for a long moment. Him inside me. Both of us shaking.
Then he pulls out slowly and I feel the mess of it slide down my thigh. I don’t care. I roll over and look at him - flushed, sweaty, his hair a disaster.
He leans down and kisses me. Soft this time.
Then he rests his forehead against mine.
“So,” he says. “Sweden.”
Neither of us sayswhat happens then.
