"Yes." No hesitation. Zero. "Now stop asking."
He almost smiles. He climbs over me, the warm weight of him bracketing me on either side, and the mattress gives under us as his mouth finds my throat. He kisses me there, all along the underside of my jaw, then the ridge of my collarbone, and trails down between my breasts and captures one nipple between his lips.
A needy, guttural sound escapes me and I dig my fingers into his mane, savoring the silky, smooth texture of it. He works my nipple until I squirm, then crosses to the other side and does it again until I'm squirming more.
"Demetrius." My voice sounds like I've been running.
"Mm."
"Is your goal here to torture me?"
He looks up at me and his expression is the most insufferably pleased look I have ever seen on a man's face.
"How impatient you are," he says.
"That's not an answer."
He kisses my stomach and I try to remember that I am a grown adult woman with dignity and self-control, and then he climbs back up my body, trailing kisses on my heated skin, until he settles between my thighs. The evidence of how much he wants this nudges against me, and dignity exits the premises.
He takes his shaft in his hand and draws the tip of his cock through my wet folds, slow and maddening, up and down. I hear myself make a sound that might be his name or might be a word that doesn't exist in any language but works fine here.
His eyes come up to mine.
He holds my gaze as he notches himself at my entrance and then pushes in, slow and steady, a long, smooth stretch of him filling me, and my back arches off the bed and my mouth falls open on nothing. He doesn't stop until he's fully seated, every inch of him. I feel split open in the best way, stretched full, my walls fluttering around him as they figure out the situation.
He pauses.
Still watching me. Always watching me. Like I'm the only thing in the room, in the house, in the world that he gives a damn about right now.
He starts to move.
The first thrust is slow. The second, the same. My hips roll to meet the third and his breath changes, a low sound from somewhere in his chest, and then we find a rhythm and I stop keeping track of things like time and reason.
My eyes close. The pleasure builds in waves and I let them take me, deeper and more insistent with every pass, and then his fingers find my jaw, warm and firm, tilting my face.
"Look at me."
My eyes open.
He's watching me like he's cataloguing every detail for later. My face, my mouth, the exact sound I just made. Like he plans to memorize every second of this moment.
"I've waited a very long time," he says, his hips driving forward and I gasp, "to see your face when you come."
I try to hold his gaze. I really do. I try through three more thrusts and then my concentration goes the way of everything else I thought I had under control tonight.
"I'm going to," I say, or something like it. "Demetrius, I'm going to come."
"Yes, Maddie, come for me."
The orgasm hits me like a wave, from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head, and my eyes squeeze shut despite my best efforts. His name comes out of me in a long moan.
He follows me over. His rhythm breaks into something deeper and less controlled, and he bottoms out and holds there, his whole body shuddering, a rough sound tearing out of him from somewhere deep in his chest, and I feel the warmth of his release filling me as he spills deep inside.
For a moment neither of us moves.
My entire body is a happy, wrung-out mess and I'm not even sure where Demetrius ends and I begin.
He shifts his weight and lowers himself beside me, careful not to crush me, which, given the size difference between us, is a thoughtful choice. I feel every breath he takes against my side.
