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He watches while I shift my weight, adjusting so more of it rests on my good leg. The pain eases into the familiar dull throb. I lean down and kiss the corner of his mouth.

"There. Better. See? Still functional."

He huffs a quiet laugh against my lips. "Barely. Come here."

I settle between his thighs again, careful this time. I pour lube onto my fingers and warm it between my palms the way he's always done for me. Then I reach down and circle him gently.

"Tell me if it's too much," I murmur.

"I will. Look at me while you do it."

I keep my eyes on his as I press one finger inside. He's tight and hot and he exhales slowly, never looking away. I work him open with the same patience he's always shown me—one finger, then two, then three—watching every flicker of pleasure and stretch cross his face. When I curl my fingers and find the place that makes his breath hitch, he lets out a soft, broken sound.

"That's it," he whispers. "Just like that. You're doing so well."

I keep going until he's pushing back onto my hand, until his cock is hard and leaking against his stomach, until his eyes are half-lidded but still locked on mine.

"I'm ready," he says. "Owen. I'm ready for you."

I roll on the condom with slightly shaking hands, coat myself, and shift forward. The head of my cock presses against him. I pause.

"Look at me," I tell him, the same words he's given me so many times.

He does. Steady. Open. Waiting.

I push in slowly.

The first slide is overwhelming—tight heat, the way he opens for me, the low sound he makes when I bottom out. I freeze, buried deep, breathing hard through my nose. My arms are braced on either side of his head so I don't put weight on my knee.

"Okay?" I manage.

"Yes." His voice is rough. "God, yes. Move when you're ready."

I start slow. Tiny rocks at first, learning the angle, learning how he feels around me. It's different from being taken—more control, more responsibility, more of everything. Every time I sink in I feel him clench, and every time I pull back he follows with his hips, like he doesn't want any space between us.

After a minute the uncertainty starts to ease. I find a rhythm that works—deep, steady rolls of my hips that keep me from putting too much pressure on the knee. Rémy's hands slide up my arms, over my shoulders, into my hair. He talks me through the first few minutes the way he always has.

"A little deeper—yes. Just like that. You feel so good inside me. Keep looking at me."

I do. I never look away. The Christmas lights shift across his face—red, then green, then soft blue—and I watch the way his mouth falls open, the way his eyes go glassy when I hit the right spot.

Gradually his voice fades. He stops giving instructions. He just lets me lead. His legs tighten around my waist. His fingers dig into my shoulders. The only sounds in the room are the quiet wet slide of me moving inside him and the soft, punched-out breaths he's trying to keep quiet.

I reach between us and wrap my hand around his cock, stroking in time with my hips. He arches under me with a low moan.

"Owen—"

"I've got you," I tell him, the same words he's given me. "I've got you. Just feel it."

I keep the pace slow and deep, never rushing. My knee throbs in the background but I ignore it. All that matters is the way he looks at me—completely open, completely trusting—and the way he feels around me, hot and tight and perfect.

When he gets close his breathing changes. His hands fist in the sheets. I lean down so our foreheads touch, so I can see every second of it up close.

"Come for me," I murmur. "I want to feel it."

He does—shuddering under me, clenching hard around my cock, spilling over my fist and onto his stomach with a soft, broken sound that might be my name. The way he pulses around me pulls me under with him. I bury myself as deep as I can and come with a low groan, forehead still pressed to his, eyes still open, watching him the entire time.

We stay locked together for a long time after, breathing the same air. Eventually I soften and carefully pull out. He makes a small sound at the loss. I discard the condom, grab a washcloth from the bathroom, and clean us both up with the same care he's always shown me. Then I stretch out beside him on the bed.