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“Fuck my cock like you mean it and maybe I will.”

I brace my knees on either side of him and find the right angle and the right rhythm.

“That’s what I fucking wanted,” he grunts out.

Another wave of pleasure threatens to rise up inside of me as he swells to a hardness so thick, it’s almost painful. Friction builds between us.

I can feel the second impending orgasm and I’m just about to chase it down when I realize he’s let me go, his arms hanging limply at his side.

I slow. “Are you … oh. You’re locked up. I’m sorry. I should—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he says up to me. “Don’t fucking stop.”

His words light a fire at my core. Something deep and primal that I let smoke out a long time ago, terrified of what it was, what it meant, and where the burning light would lead me.

Always, in the deep parts of my mind, I worried it would lead me nowhere good.

The sizzling pressure building in my body wants to release again and again and I want to chase it like a field hound, wild and hungry.

“Learn to take what you want, princess,” he says.

I brace myself on the sofa, hands curled over the back.

“And don’t fucking apologize for it.”

“Okay,” I say on a moan.

“Okay,” he answers, his gaze glassy, his jaw set.

Everything about him is abrasive, and for reasons I can’t quite decipher, I find myself wanting to scrape myself raw against him.

I lift my hips up, then sink down on him and he groans deep in his chest.

“The princess does know how to do what she’s told,” he says. “Again.”

Knees planted in the cushions, I rise, then sit back, rise again.

“Fuck.” The expletive comes out of him like teeth tearing through fabric.

Slow, slowly, then fast, faster until we’re crashing together over the edge.

I hold onto the sofa, onto him so tightly, I’m worried I too will lock up.

The second orgasm is deeper, not a tidal wave, but a stone’s throw and the following ripple, out, out, out, again, again, again.

Stars flare behind my closed eyes.

I’m floating.

Spent.

Sated.

Tin’s forehead comes to my chest, his breath huffing out in short, hot bursts.

We stay like that for a minute, maybe less, but it feels like an eternity of nothing but burning stars.

“Dorothy,” he says.