Lili’s head falls back against the table so hard white bursts across her vision. Her mind bleaches, body loosened in a moment of disbelief—and the heat of him pushes forward, fully, finally. A high keen rises in her throat, at the feeling of him coming home, inside of her.
“Blyat,” he mutters, working into her, thrusts that force further each time. “It’s barely been two weeks, how are you still this tight—fuck, Lili.”
Wincing past the pain, she wills her body to relax, to let her have this—just let her have this. Reaching above her, she grasps the edge of the table, trying to hold onto something, as she starts fucking herself back onto him. Her thighs shake, toes curling. Already a dark ache bruises inside of her, separate from pleasure. Lifting her hips off the table, Aleksandr presses deeper. Lili gasps, letting him in.
“Yes, that’s right, little one,” he groans. “There you go, sweetheart—fuck,fuck—”
She’s taking it with difficulty, letting out little sounds of frustration asshe tries to rock herself against him. He glances down, catching the motion of her breasts with the rhythm of their bodies together. Bracing himself over her, Aleksandr hitches her leg higher, pressing her knee to her own shoulder. Surprised, she groans at the shift in pressure and depth—at the spread of need, him and her again, the way she feels, the way shefeels—
A sob that she hadn’t realized was building crests, andfuck, is she crying?
Crying, at the pain of him inside of her, at the pain of him with her—because it feels like he’s ruining her body; ruining it for anyone who might ever hope to come after him, that she’s experiencing something here she won’t ever reach with anyone else—that he’d break her and build her back, again and again, as many times as she asked, and that means something,it means something; because how many other people could do this? How many other people would she ever trust to do this?
She doesn’t want to examine the texture of that feeling, what built up between them when she wasn’t looking, what she thought was only physical: just the ability to give him her body and know he’ll push harder than she wants but with exactly what she needs, roughness, a brutality that makes her fucking let go—stripped of this belligerent, exhausting tension, the constant sense of always waiting for the other shoe to drop—let him push her, and let him catch her.
She didn’t realize—she didn’t realize that wastrust.
Trust, in the way he makes her feel pleasure in the arches of her feet, the curl of her toes, the strain of her back, the heat of her hips, orgasm brewing at the base of her spine—but beyond that, in the way he makes her feelhappy; the way he makes her feel healthy, safe, steady, wanted, like shebelongs—
Tears start to slip into her hair. She looks away, then. Unable to see it, to look at him, unable to face it, tobethis—head straining to the side: the Twombly, the dark loft—
But a hand grabs her throat. “What do you want, Lili?” he asks, strained near breathless with the rhythm of fucking her. And Jesus, how he’s watching her—when she can’t look away; when she can only take in how immediate, and intense, and full that stare goes, watching her cry like it’s beautiful to him.
Another sob cracks in her throat, under his grip. Tension tightens inhis gaze. The heat, the thickness of him inside of her: a sensation so extraordinarily far beyond the physical, like he lives in her. In her chest, she feels the sense of something she wants only from him.
“This,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, trying to hold him close enough that her whispers barely exist, that what she’s saying lasts only for this moment, between them, “this—you—all I—you’re all I want—”
He inhales, sharp. Disbelief is clear in his eyes, but then, so fucking fast: determination, intent.
“You have me,” he exhales, resting his forehead against hers as he keeps fucking her, mind-spiral of brutal and gentle. “You have me—fuck, Lili, you haveallof me—” And God, she wants that—she wants that so badly, wants him to be hers, wants to know that he’ll never leave. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, close to a groan. “I will—I promise you.”
But she shakes her head, under his hold on her throat. “You can’t,” she chokes out, tight with desperation, threadbare with need—frantic, a last protest from her, even as dark things start to bloom in her body, even as she longs to just let go, to believe him,to believe him—
His grip tightens on her throat. She sees his frown, as if he’s trying to understand, like he sees that there’s a storm brewing inside of her, beyond sex, and beyond pleasure and pain.
“Trust me,” he insists, low.
“No,” she protests, shaking her head. “No, no—”
The stutter—the failure—of her breath, as his grip tightens further, hard enough to bruise. Remnants of him that she could keep.
“I’ll take care of you,” he repeats, a murmur against her lips, groan of tension like he’s proving something to her; like he won’t let go until she believes it. “I’ll always fucking take care of you—you’re mine, Lili, you’re fuckingmine—”
Oh, to have things spoken aloud that should stay silent, and to not have the heart to silence them.
In his hair, Lili’s hands tighten, and before she can think further, she kisses him. She feels the hint of his wince, her nails against his scalp, but he instantly meets her fierceness, leans in more, with her tears against his face, in this hot, open kiss so heated it makes her ribs seize, the hardness around her heart faltering for just a moment.
“I am,” she gasps, mouth open on moans, sobs in her throat: desperate, urgent. As if she can will this to be true, can will it to last. “I am,I am—I’m yours—”
Her words, it’s like they both break him and build him—looking into his eyes, as she tries to capture his breath in her body, she sees something collapsing, something growing, things she shouldn’t let herself glimpse: this way he looks at her, clear even through pleasure, like what she’s said means something to him,means everything to him—
And there’s more, there’s so much fucking more she wants to say. So many more mornings she wants to have with him, nights she wants to fall asleep beside him, with his arms around her, so many more times she wants to feel the rise of his groans in her body, this man who makes her laugh and smile, infuriates and angers her, makes her gasp and moan—and it hurts, how close she’s holding him, so tight it must hurt him, too: catch of her nails in his hair, but he does not pull away, and he does not flinch, and she does not want to come down—the ground waiting for her is unforgiving, the impact of that fall growing graver with each moment she spends under the safety of his skin—but she grasps onto him, her body only his, breath in his mouth, a little longer.
When his grip around her throat tightens, pushing the last of her air away, the give of her hips under him, Lili’s eyes flutter closed—and she knows he’s leaving marks anyone will be able to see, but he kisses her like she’s everything to him, and she lets him, because she wants that, for just a bit longer,just a bit longer—for everyone to see, for everyone to know that this existed, that this lived, between them, the bruise of this summer—
When he comes, hot inside of her, a groan—and oh, the shape of her name—heavy against her skin, she doesn’t realize that she’s coming, too, that she’s already gasping, moans in the dark, because her chest is shaking so hard, because her vision has blurred with tears, because she’s holding him so tightly she can’t feel anything but the looming loss of him.
The blue of night is hushed.
