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"I know. Almost ready. One more minute. I need you soft for me. I need you ready to take all of me."

He keeps working me until I'm pushing back onto his hand, chasing the pressure. Only then does he ease his fingers out. The sudden emptiness makes me feel hollow. He tears the condom open with his teeth, rolls it on, and coats himself heavily with more lube. Then he moves up over me, bracing on one arm so he doesn't put weight on my bad knee.

The blunt head of his cock presses against me.

"Last chance," he says. His voice is rough now, but still controlled. "You want this?"

"Yes. Please. Rémy—please."

"Then look at me. Don't close your eyes. Don't look away. I want to see every second of it."

He starts to push in.

The stretch is bigger than his fingers—hot, relentless, overwhelming. I can't help the sharp inhale, the way my body tries to lock up again. Rémy freezes halfway.

"Breathe," he orders. "You're okay. You're taking me. Just breathe and look at me."

I force air into my lungs. Keep my eyes on his. He sinks another inch. Then another. The burn edges into something deeper, heavier. When he finally bottoms out I'm shaking, full in a way I've never been full before. He stays completely still, giving me time, one hand stroking my cheek.

"You're in," he whispers. "All of me. Feel that?"

I nod, unable to speak.

"Say it."

"I feel you. Fuck—Rémy, I feel you."

He starts to move. Tiny rocks at first, barely withdrawing, letting me adjust. Every slide drags over that place inside me until my vision blurs. The old tension is still there—the voice that says this is wrong, that someone will find out, that I'll lose everything—but it's getting quieter under the wet sound of him moving inside me and the steady praise falling from his mouth.

"That's it. Let me in. You're so tight, so perfect like this. Just for me."

He shifts the angle slightly, careful of my knee, and the next thrust hits something that makes my back arch off the bed. A broken sound tears out of me.

"There," he says, almost fierce. "That's the place. Stay with me. Look at me while I fuck you there."

He starts to thrust properly—long, deep strokes that fill me completely on every push. The bed creaks. Snow keeps falling past the window. I'm open and raw and completely exposed under him, and for one last second the old fear surges up hard.

I almost look away.

Rémy's hand comes up and catches my jaw, gentle but unyielding.

"No," he says. "Look at me. You're not hiding. Not from this. Not from me. Let go."

Something in me cracks.

The tension drains out all at once. My body goes pliant under him. I stop fighting the stretch, stop fighting the way it feels to be taken like this. I just open for him and take every thrust. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes; I don't wipe them away. I keep looking at him the way he told me to.

"There you are," he breathes. His rhythm stutters for a second, like the sight of me finally surrendering hits him as hard as it hits me. "Fuck, Owen. That's it. That's everything. You're mine right now. All the way."

He reaches between us and wraps his hand around my cock, stroking in time with his hips. The dual sensation is too much. I'm going to come harder than I ever have in my life and I can't stop it and I don't want to.

"Rémy—I'm⁠—"

"I know. Come for me. Come while I'm inside you. Let me feel it."

I break.

The orgasm rips through me in long, deep pulses. I come across my stomach and his hand, clenching hard around him, eyes still locked on his. The pleasure is so intense it's almost painful. Rémy fucks me through it, praising me the whole time—good, so good, taking it so well—until his own rhythm turns erratic. He buries himself to the hilt with a low, guttural sound and comes, hips pressed tight against me, forehead dropping to mine.