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"I'm not making it weird. I'm impressed."

"Don't be impressed either."

She sits up. Swings her leg over me and settles on my hips. My hands go to her waist automatically, spanning her almost completely. She's sitting on my cock, her weight on me, pussy still glossy from our previous bout of fucking. She’s wet and delectable as she shifts her hips, dragging her sweet cunt over my rigid shaft. I grunt, my fingers tightening on her.

"You're trouble," I tell her.

"You showed up at my door." She rolls her hips again, slow, grinding down, and my head pushes back into the pillow. "I was minding my own business."

"You've never minded your own business a day in your life."

She braces her hands on my chest and starts to move. Slow, deliberate, sliding herself along the length of me without letting me inside, using me, and the hot wet drag of her pussy against my cock has my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave fingerprints.

"Vanessa."

"Hmm?"

"You're killing me."

"Good. You deserve it."

But she lifts up, reaches between us, wraps her hand around me and guides me to her entrance and sinks down. One long slow drop, taking me all the way in, and the sound that comes out of her is a low, throaty moan that vibrates through my entire body.

She starts riding me and I am in deep shit.

She's good at this. She's good at everything but she is really, spectacularly good at this, rolling her hips in a rhythm that keeps changing every time I get used to it, her hands flat on my chest, her breasts swaying, her head tipped back and her mouth open and she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life and I'm going to come before she does and there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it.

"Slow down." My voice barely works. "Vanessa. Slow down, I'm too close."

She doesn't slow down. She speeds up. Plants her hands on my chest and rides me faster, harder, clenching around me every time she drops, and I swear under my breath, my hips driving up into her, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips.

"I can't — I'm going to —"

"Then come." She looks down at me, chestnut-brown hair falling around her face, her eyes fierce and certain. "I want you to."

I lose it. My spine locks, my hips slam up into her one last time, and I come so hard my brain turns to static, groaning through clenched teeth, both hands pulling her hips flush against mine, buried deep inside her while I pulse and shake and completely fall apart underneath a woman half my size.

She doesn't stop.

She keeps moving, slower now, grinding down on me in tight circles, and I'm still inside her and oversensitive and every shift of her hips sends shocks through me that make my stomach muscles jerk. My hand finds her clit, working her with my middle- and index fingers, and her rhythm stutters.

"That's it." My voice is shot. "Take what you need."

Her thighs clamp around me. Her hands curl into fists on my chest. She grinds down hard, twice more, and then she comes with a broken gasp that turns into my name, shuddering around me, her whole body caving forward until her forehead drops to my collarbone and she's breathing against my neck in sharp little bursts.

I wrap both arms around her. Hold her there.

Her heart is hammering against mine. Two heartbeats in a bed built for one, with the rain continuing to fall on the roof, and her breath slowing down against my skin. Neither of us says anything for so long that we drift off to sleep that way.

When I wake up it's starting to get light outside. The rain has finally stopped. Her window is gray and pale and the fan is still turning, pushing around air that smells like us. Her sheets, her skin, sex, the last of the rain on the roof, slowly drying.

Vanessa is asleep on her stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other curled around my forearm. The quilt is pooled at her waist. Her hair is a mess, dark tangles across the pillowcase and her bare shoulder, and there's a red mark on the back of her neck where my mouth was. Another one on her shoulder blade. Lower, below where the quilt starts, I know there are more. My fingerprints on her hips. The memory of that makes my stomach tighten in a way that isn't guilt.

She breathes slow and even. Her lips are parted. Her eyelashes rest against her cheeks and her face is soft and open and completely unguarded. I'm watching her sleep in a bed I can barely fit in, and my first thought is that I should leave before she wakes up.

I don't leave.

I lie there on my back with my shoulder against her wall and my feet off the end of her mattress and I watch her breathe. Her ribs expand. Her shoulder shifts. She makes a small sound, and burrows deeper into my side.