"Okay."
"Say it."
"If it hurts, we stop."
"Hmm. Good girl."
The praise does something to me. Makes heat flood between my legs, makes me want to earn more of it.
I hook my fingers into his boxers and pull them down.
He springs free, and—
Holy shit.
Thick. Long. A bead of moisture at the tip that makes my mouth water for reasons I don't fully understand.
"Can I—" I reach out, hesitate. "Can I touch you?"
"Fuck yes." His voice is wrecked. "Please."
I wrap my hand around him, and he's hot. Silky skin over steel. He hisses when I stroke him, experimentally.
"Like this?" I ask.
"Harder."
I squeeze, stroke again. He groans, his hips jerking forward.
"You're going to make me come if you keep doing that," he warns.
"Is that bad?"
"Not bad. Just—I want to be inside you when I come. Want to feel you."
The words make me clench. I let go of him and step back.
"Then take me to bed."
He doesn't need to be told twice. He lifts me again, this time laying me on the sheets like I might break. His hands find my bra, unhook it with practiced ease, and then my breasts are bare.
He stares.
"Axel—"
"Give me a second." His hands hover over them. "I'm memorizing this. You, like this, in my bed. Need to remember it."
Why does that hurt?
Because tomorrow afternoon I'll be gone. This will be a memory for both of us, nothing more.
I push the thought away, arch my back. "Stop memorizing and start touching."
He grins. "Bossy."
"You like it."
"I fucking love it."
