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This is that feeling for me.

“I need…” she whispers into my mouth, her warm breath catching between the words. “I need…”

“What?” I ask, a slow smile tugging at my mouth. “What do you need, Selene?”

Because yeah—I’m petty like that. I want to hear her say it. I want to hear that she needs me.

I want those words burned into my memory so I can replay them during every quiet moment when my thoughts inevitably drift back there.

Back to this exact instant.

If I could, I’d trap it in time forever.

“I need you so much, Zayn,” she confesses, and my chest constricts. “I want you so much.”

Then she kisses me again, all passion, urgency, and hunger, leaving us both struggling for air.

She’s so close to the edge. I feel it in the way her clit throbs beneath my fingers, in the tension building through every inch of her body. There’s no time to ease her into it the way I imagined—no chance to savor every second or tease her until she’s shaking apart in my hands.

I rise onto my knees without breaking the kiss and nudge her legs apart with my thighs. My free hand covers hers, still wrapped around my cock, guiding it to her entrance.

Her slickness coats everything—my cock, her fingers, my hand—until there’s no distinction anymore, only raw and undeniable proof of how desperately she wants this.

“You’re so ready for me, pixie,” I whisper, catching her bottom lip between my teeth and holding it there for a lingering moment.

Her hips begin to move, chasing the friction she craves—the kind I grant only in fleeting fragments.

“That’s because I really, really want you,” she answers, her voice a little more than a breath.

She looks up at me through those wide, intoxicating eyes, blinking slowly, and whatever restraint I have left evaporates.

This time, I’m the one threading a hand into her thick hair, pulling her into a deeper kiss as I finally push inside her.

I sink into her without resistance, and the feeling slams into me—tight, hot, all-consuming. The room fills with nothing but our ragged breathing, her soft moans, and the quiet, intimate rhythm of our bodies moving together.

“Fuck… so fucking perfect, pixie.”

I ease her farther down the bed, giving her room to stretch out beneath me, lowering myself over her, supporting my weight on one arm.

I ache to kiss my way down her body—to the breasts I’ve craved since the moment she bared them in front of me—but she keeps claiming my mouth, refusing to let me go. Her tongue meets mine with desperate insistence, demanding every ounce of attention.

And right now, I’m powerless to deny her.

My pace quickens, growing harder, more relentless, each thrust driving the bed into the wall behind it.

Good thing there’s nothing on the other side. Good thing this is an apartment instead of a simple hotel room, because I’m pretty sure there would’ve been complaints at the front desk after a night like this.

“I love the way you make me feel,” she whispers, the words barely coherent. She’s so far gone that her accent takes over completely. “Mi-aş dori să pot avea parte de asta mereu și mereu… nu doar acum,” (EN: I wish I could have this over and over… not just now.), she adds.

I pull back to look at her, breaking the kiss. I’m not entirely sure, but I think she just switched to Romanian.

“I don’t understand you when you speak your language, pixie,” I tell her with a chuckle.

“Thank God,” she shoots back, making me laugh.

Any reply dies on my tongue as I feel her tighten around me, her body trembling in powerful waves.

Not that I needed the confirmation.