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"Adrik." I moan and reach behind me. I have to touch him. To anchor myself to him, to this.
He lets go of my hair and catches me by the throat. He peels me off the table and into him until my back is pressed to his front.
I feel it all as it happens: he stiffens. His growl deepens. His thrusts got more brutal and spaced farther and farther apart.
And then he’s filling me again and again. His orgasm is almost enough to make me come a third time.
We both slide to the floor in a mass of sweaty, tangled limbs and hair. I’m wet with him and myself and shivery all over. Only touching him cools the fever. So I do, stroking slow circles down his bare chest.
I feel drunk with pleasure. Untethered from everything that’s been hung around my neck like a millstone for so, so long.
There’s only this. Only him. I don’t want it to end.
I reach up and curl my hand around his neck. I don't have any trouble begging now.
"Please do that again."
