Page 156 of Legacy Elite

"Tell me," he says.

"What?"

"What you want." His hand is on my hip and it has not moved in ten seconds and I want to scream.

So I do.

I say it out loud, specifically, and I feel my whole face go hot doing it — and Soren doesn't smile, and doesn't tease me, and doesn't make me say it twice.

He just moves down the bed and does exactly what I asked for.

Both hands hold my hips down when I try to come off the bed, and after about ninety seconds I stop caring about anything.

"Soren—"

He doesn't stop. He doesn't slow. And when I say his name a second time in a voice I don't recognize he makes a low sound against me that I feel all the way up my spine, and that's what finishes it — I come apart with both hands in his hair and my heels dug into the mattress, and he stays exactly where he is until I've stopped.

Then he comes back up and kisses me, and I taste myself on him, and I get my hand between us and go for the front of his trousers.

"Jessica—"

"Do not," I say, "tell me in a minute."

"I wasn't going to."

He gets rid of the rest of his clothes fast, which is the first thing he's done quickly all night, and then he's over me again with his forearms braced either side of my head and his whole body against mine and nothing in the way any more.

And he stops there.

"Look at me," he says.

I do.

"You know what this is."

"Yes."

"Once it's done, it's done. There isn't a version where either of us takes it back."

"I know exactly what it is." I get my hand round the back of his neck. "Soren. I'm not the one who needed all this time."

"No," he says. "You're not."

And then he's inside me, and it's slow, and it isn't careful and I hear the breath go out of him against my ear like something finally letting go.

I have a moment to think, damn he's big and then he moves.

Every stroke makes me see stars. He keeps his weight on one forearm and gets his other hand under my thigh and adjusts the angle by about an inch, watching my face, and when I make a noise about it he stays exactly there and doesn't move again.

"There," he says.

I get my ankles locked behind him and pull, and he goes deeper and his forehead drops to my shoulder, and after that it stops being deliberate for either of us.

It builds and builds. His hand slides up to fold around mine against the pillow and stays there. My whole world narrows to the weight of him, the sound he makes every time I say his name — and I feel it coming a long way out, gathering, low and hot and enormous.

"Soren—"

And I come, hard, with him still moving, my hand crushed in his — and he follows me with my name against my throat.