"Again?" she gasped.
"As many times as you'll let me," I said.
She looked up at me with something so open in her face it nearly stopped me entirely.
"Okay," she said. Small and certain. "Okay, yes, as many times as you want?—"
I drove forward hard and she stopped talking.
I built it slow, the morning unhurried around us, the light spreading warm across the floor while she came apart underneath me—once, then partway to a second, then I felt her clenching tight and desperate and I let go, buried deep, her name in my mouth.
The stillness afterward was complete.
Her legs around me. Her hands loose in my hair. Both of us breathing.
I didn't move.
"Gage," she said, after a moment.
"Mm."
"You can?—"
"I know," I said. "I'm not."
She understood. I felt it in the way she relaxed underneath me, the last of the tension leaving her body, accepting the weight of me. I shifted my hips just slightly, grinding deeper, and she made a soft sound.
"Every drop," I said.
"Every drop," she agreed, breathless.
I stayed where I was and worked her slow—not thrusting, just rocking, small deliberate movements that kept me lodged deep while she twitched and sighed underneath me. Her hands had moved to my back, palms flat, holding on.
"Feel full?" I said.
"So full."
"Good." I pressed deeper, watched her eyes go glassy. "That's where it's staying."
I kept her there for a long time. Long enough that her breathing slowed and her body went loose and her eyes started to drift, the morning warmth and the weight of me doing theirwork. Every time she shifted I shifted with her, keeping the angle, keeping everything right where it needed to be.
Then I reached over the side of the bed.
She felt me move and opened her eyes. Looked at what I'd picked up.
"Gage." Her voice was very careful.
"Mm."
"We already did twenty minutes."
"We did," I agreed.
"And then we just?—"
"We did," I said again. I turned it over in my hand. "And I'm still inside you."
Her breath hitched.
