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“Come here,” she says, and there’s a new authority in her voice that sends heat pooling in my gut.

I move toward the bed, but she holds up a hand, stopping me.

“Slowly,” she instructs, her eyes darkening. “Let me look at you.”

“What did I say about you being bossy?” I ask through a grin.

“You said you loved it,” she says. Which I never did, but she can tell I do anyway.

So I comply, moving with deliberate slowness until I’m standing at the edge of the bed. She reaches out, her fingertips tracing the line of my hip, then moving lower to wrap around the length of my cock. The contact makes my breath hitch.

“You’re so hard,” she marvels, more to herself than to me. She strokes me once, twice, her grip perfect. My hands fist at my sides as I fight the urge to push into her touch.

When she finally releases me, I exhale shakily. She lies back against the pillows, spreading her legs in invitation. The sight of her—still flushed from her orgasm, lips swollen, hair fanned across the pillow—makes my chest ache with something beyond desire.

I climb over her, bracing myself on my forearms. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer until I can feel her heat against me.

“Are you sure—” I start to ask.

“God, yes,” she interrupts, reaching between us to guide me to her entrance. “Don’t make me wait.”

I push inside her slowly, giving her body time to adjust. The sensation of being enveloped by her heat nearly undoes me. She’s so tight, so perfect around me that I have to pause, my forehead dropping to rest against hers.

“Alright?” I manage to ask, my voice strained.

Her answer is to roll her hips, taking me deeper. I groan, the sound torn from somewhere primal. I begin to move, and we find a rhythm, the small bed forcing us into an intimate position, her leg hitched over my hip, my hand cupping her ass to tilt her up. The wet sound of our bodies moving together fills the small room, accompanied by the creak of the bed and her ragged breathing. I’m drowning in all of it, in the heat and friction, the perfect fit of her around me and I hear myself make a low, rough sound against her neck. She turns toward the vibration. When I groan again, deeper this time, I feel her clench around me in response, a tight flutter that threatens to end this far too soon.

I pull back almost completely, leaving just the head of my cock inside her.

I need to regroup, get a hold of myself. Though I often lack self-control, this is one place where my mind quiets and I want to enjoy it as long as I can.

“Tell me what you want,” I murmur.

Her eyes are dark with need. “You know what I want.”

“So tell me anyway. Let me hear it.”

“Harder,” she says, the word sharp and hungry, and it goes straight to my cock. “I want you harder. Stop being so gentle with me. I can’t break.”

I growl in response and drive into her hard enough to make the headboard hit the wall, and the sound she makes undoes me completely. I set a punishing pace, my jaw tight with the effort of holding back when all I want is to lose myself in her. Her nails dig into my shoulder hard enough to leave marks, and the pain grounds me, gives me something to focus on besides how good she feels around me. I put my mouth to her throat and taste salt on her skin, feel her pulse hammering against my tongue as mine answers in kind.

I pull out and she makes a sound of protest I intend to address. I turn her, my hands at her hips, and she goes with it, understanding immediately, and then she’s on her knees with her back to me and I run my hands up over her spine and have to stop for a moment with my hands on her hips and my forehead bowed and just breathe, because the sight of her like this is a lot to absorb. Too much so. I wonder if I can die from it. Can I even die again?

I push those thoughts from my mind.

“Alright?” I manage.

“Very much so,” she says thickly.

I lean down and put my mouth to the back of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, and feel her shiver all the way down her spine. Then I position myself at her entrance. When I press into her at this angle, she lets out a sharp, soft gasp—her body yields and tightens around me all at once, a silken heat that makes me groan into her shoulder. The sound is unplanned, raw, but she arches back into it, answering with a low hum of pleasure that tells me she’s just as undone.

I reach around and find her with my fingers and work her clit while I move and she drops her head forward and the sounds she’s making now are different, animalistic and low, and I feel them in my chest and my thighs begin to shake. My breathing has given up entirely on being controlled. I am breathing like a man doing physical labor, which I suppose is accurate, and I press my lips to the back of her shoulder and feel her skin hot under my mouth.

“Turn your head so you’re looking at the wall,” I tell her, my voice rough. “I want to watch you.”

She lifts her head. Candlelight catches the sweat-sheened line of her jaw, the flutter of a pulse in her throat, the parted lips from which a low, breathless gasp escapes. I watch her, driving into her with a rhythm that feels less like my own and more like something she is pulling from me. The heat is not just heat—it’s a slow, liquid burn, a tightness that belongs only to her, and I know I will feel the ghost of it for days.

My hand slides from between her legs, over the curve of her ass, and grips her hip hard. The shift is minute, but her whole body arches in response and she makes a choked, guttural noise that lodges under my ribs. I push all the way in and stop. My chest is flush against her slick back, my thigh pressed to hers, my palm branding her skin—every point of contact humming with a current so sharp it’s almost painful.