"I won't." Her voice breaks on the promise, breathless and wanting. "I can't."
The admission undoes something in me. I kiss her harder, deeper, walking us back toward the stone outcropping at the pasture's edge where the volcanic rock creates natural shelter from the wind. Her fingers tug at my tunic, pulling the fabric with increasing frustration until I have to break the kiss long enough to help her.
The tunic comes off in a graceless motion, tossed somewhere I don't track because Lenna's hands are on my bare chest and the sensation steals every rational thought from my mind. Her touch feels like recognition, like her hands know the shape of me even though this is the first time she's touching my skin.
"You feel—" She stops, her fingers tracing the lines of old scars and the harder muscle beneath. "I know you. My body knows you."
"I know." The confession comes out strained, barely controlled. "I feel it too."
I set her down only long enough to reach for the simple buttons of her kitchen uniform, my hands shaking with need I can't contain. She helps me, her fingers working alongside mine in frantic coordination until the fabric falls away and I can see her in the moonlight.
She's perfect. Soft skin marked by the evidence of her labor—faint burns, old scars, the physical history of survival written across her body in ways that make my chest ache. Real and present and here, looking up at me with desire that mirrors my own.
My hands slide down her sides, feeling the curve of her waist, the dip of her hips, memorizing textures and responses that feel simultaneously new and familiar. She shivers under my touch, her breath coming faster as I trace patterns across her skin that my fingers seem to know without being taught.
"Malrec." My name on her lips undoes me completely.
I kiss her again, deeper now, tasting the longing and confusion and raw need that matches exactly what's burning through me. Her hands work at the fastenings of my pants with increasingly desperate motions, and I help her because I need this as much as she does—need to be closer, need to stop thinking, need to understand why every touch feels like remembering.
When we're both finally bare, skin against skin with nothing between us, the sensation nearly drives me to my knees. She's warm and real and fits against me like we were designed for this exact purpose. My hands slide down to cup her rear, lifting her again, and she wraps her legs around me with practiced ease that shouldn't exist.
"I need—" She can't finish the sentence, but I feel it in the way she moves against me, in the desperate pressure of her fingers digging into my shoulders.
"I know." I press her back against the smooth volcanic stone, the surface still holding warmth from the day's heat. "Tell me what you need."
"You." The word comes out broken, pleading. "I need you. Please, Malrec, I need you inside me."
The raw honesty of it breaks the last of my control. I position myself at her entrance, feeling her heat, feeling how ready she is for me, and the sensation makes my vision blur with need. I slide into her in one slow, deliberate thrust, and the world fractures around me.
She's perfect. Tight and hot and so impossibly right that my mind goes blank with sensation. Her back arches against the stone, her head falling back as she makes a sound that's half gasp, half moan, and I have to pause just to breathe through the overwhelming intensity of being inside her.
"Oh gods." Her fingers dig into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. "You feel—this feels?—"
"I know." I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in, trying to anchor myself in reality even as everything feels like memory. "Incredible"
She nods against me, unable to speak, and I start to move.
The first withdrawal and thrust tears a groan from deep in my chest. She feels incredible, responsive, moving with me in ways that suggest an intimacy we shouldn't possess. Her legs tighten around my waist, changing the angle, and the sensation makes my knees weak.
"More." She breathes the word against my neck, her teeth grazing my skin. "Please, more."
I give her what she wants, setting a rhythm that's somewhere between desperation and reverence. Each thrust feels like rediscovery, like my body remembers exactly how she responds even though my mind insists this is our first time. She meets meperfectly, her hips rolling in counterpoint to my movements with practiced synchronization.
My hands slide up her sides, finding the curve of her breasts, and she gasps when my thumbs brush across her nipples. The sound makes me want to catalog every response, to learn what makes her come apart in my arms, even though some part of me already knows.
"Touch me," she pleads, and I don't need clarification.
One hand stays at her breast while the other slides between us, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her apex. The moment I make contact, she cries out, her inner walls clenching around me in ways that make me see stars.
"That's it." I press my mouth against her throat, tasting salt and sweetness. "Let me feel you."
She's close, I can feel it in every line of her body, in the way she trembles against me, in the increasing desperation of her movements. I adjust my angle, hitting deeper, and the sound she makes is worth everything.
"Malrec—" My name breaks on a moan. "I can't—I'm going to?—"
"Do it." I increase the pressure of my fingers, the rhythm of my thrusts. "Come for me, Lenna. I need to feel you."
Her orgasm hits like a wave, her entire body going rigid before pleasure tears through her with visible intensity. I feel every pulse, every clench, every moment of her coming undone around me, and it's the most perfect thing I've ever experienced.
