Page 83 of Run Rabbit Run

His hand stays at my throat, not squeezing, only resting there, feeling every moan and gasp and desperate sound he pulls out of me.

I could push him away.

I could fight.

I don't.

I spread my legs wider and he makes a sound of approval that moves through me, his mouth and his hands and every line of him say the same two words, good girl, good girl, good girl, as he gets me closer to the edge.

I come with his name in my mouth and his hand feeling every racing pulse of my throat.

He doesn't stop.

He works me through it, gentling when I'm too sensitive, building again when my breathing slows.

I've lost count of the nights he's spent between my thighs, patient and thorough, until I'm wrung out and shaking and so far gone I forget there was ever a world outside these walls.

This time when he moves up my body I reach down and wrap my hand around him.

He stills.

His eyes find mine, that pale blue searching, and I hold his gaze as I guide him to me.

I want this.

I want him inside me, filling me, finishing the cage he's built around every part of me.

I want to be so full of him there's no room left for the ghost of who I used to be.

"Please," I say again, and I'm begging now, begging for what will ruin me a little further.

He sinks in slowly.

We both groan at the stretch, the fullness, the rightness of it.

He holds himself still a moment, letting me feel every inch, letting me adjust.

His hand stays at my throat, thumb pressed to my pulse, and when he starts to move I feel it in every nerve I have.

Slow.

He moves so slow, like he's memorizing me from the inside.

Each thrust deliberate, grinding deep, hitting the place that makes my eyes roll back.

I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer, needing more, needing all of it.

"That's it." His voice is rough, strained, the only crack in his control. "Take me. Take all of me."

I do.

I take him deeper with every thrust, meeting his rhythm, my body moving with his like we've done this a thousand times, his hand at my throat, his voice in my ear telling me good girl, so good, my good girl.

I'm crying.

I don't know when the tears started.

I don't know if they're pleasure, grief, or something between.