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“Don’t fucking stop,” I demand, my voice hoarse with need and overwhelm.
“I’ll never stop. Never again,” he pants.
Thrust.
“My—”
Thrust.
“—perfect—”
Thrust.
“—fucking—”
Thrust.
“—witch.”
Thrust.
I can’t take it anymore. The pleasure blinds me, ripping me apart from within as it drips down my spine and melts my reality. I don’t know where he ends or where I begin.
I barely notice when the table gives a warning crack and the left leg collapses, sending more of my belongings crashing to the floor.
Sunday clutches me like something precious, covering me with his body as he presses his head into my neck, cupping the top of my head protectively.
I don’t know why it’s that gesture that tips me over the edge, but it does.
“Holy—Sunday!” I cry out as my second release barrels through me and spatters over our stomachs. My toes curl, my limbs trembling as he grunts into my neck, his hips stuttering as I clamp around him.
Rapturous bliss sends me to delirium as he fucks me—more, more—until he starts tipping over the edge too. His teeth sink into my neck, a deep, throaty moan rumbling into my skin as he comes undone, spilling into the condom.
His movements slow, but don’t stop, even as his teeth unclench from my neck. He keeps moving, wringing every last bit of dizzying pleasure out of me, until it becomes too much and moisture leaks down the side of my face.
Sunday withdraws from me, licking up my tears and pressing a soft kiss to each of my cheeks and eyelids before drawing back to hover over me. He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
There’s that smile again…
“What’s so funny?” I bristle, pushing myself up onto my elbows, wincing at the soreness between my legs.
“Nothing. You just look…fucked out.”
In the mirror on the other side of the room, my hair is in damp tangles, pieces of dried lavender and flower petals trapped in the strands. Sweat glistens on my brow, my cheeks a healthy pink and my eyes flashing with a vibrancy I haven’t seen in a long time.
“We look good together, don’t we?” he murmurs, pressing his face against mine, both of us visible in the mirror.
We do.
Gold and silver.
Color and grayscale.
“Mmm,” I agree, because my mouth can’t form words right now.
“That all I’m getting out of you?” He pulls back to look at me. “No ‘Thank you for introducing me to my ancestors, Holy Sunday’?”
My hand darts out to slap him lightly on the arm. “That is not your new nickname.”
