Page 39 of Final Drive

I push the rest of the way in, and her joke breaks apart on a gasp.

“Yeah,” I manage. “Who’s talking now?”

“Still you.”

“Fair.”

I stay there for a second, buried deep, trying to get used to the bond humming between us and the way I can feel her pleasure underneath my own. Every shift of her hips sends it back through me twice, and when she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me closer, I stop pretending I’m going to take this slow.

I draw back and thrust again. Her head tips into the pillows, and the sound she makes punches straight through the bond.

“That good?”

“Do it again.”

So I do.

The bed starts moving under us, projector light flashing across her face every time I lift my head. I kiss her throat, her jaw, anywhere I can reach while she keeps pulling me back to her mouth. She’s tight and hot around me, and every time I hit the angle she wants, the bond gives me the answer before the sound gets out of her.

“Right there,” she gasps.

“I know.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Way past that.”

She digs her heels into me and I drive deeper, her nails scraping down my back hard enough to sting. I like that too. I like all of it. Her hair coming loose against the pillows, the dress bunched around her waist, the way she keeps saying my name like she can’t decide whether it’s a warning or a request.

“I’ve wanted this so fucking long,” I tell her.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” I kiss her hard and thrust again. “I’ve been losing my mind.”

Her hand slides into my hair. “You hide it well.”

“I make jokes when I’m suffering.”

“You make jokes when you’re happy.”

“I contain⁠—”

“If you say multitudes again, I’m kicking you out of bed.”

“That seems difficult from your current position.”

“Want to find out?”

I change the angle instead, and whatever she was going to say turns into a broken moan.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole now.”

The bond flares at the words, warm and immediate, and I don’t have anything to add.