He pressed in, thick and slow, feeling her clench and arch and gasp, and he waited, punishing himself with the restraint. He'd always wanted to see the moment someone gave up on dignity, the precise instant pride lost to need. Here it was. Eyes wide, mouth parted in a high, helpless moan, Felicity let her head roll back and let him in, all of him, as far as he could go.
He was not gentle. He didn't want to be. He wanted to ruin her.
She gave as good as she got. She hooked her ankles behind his back and dragged him in deeper, every thrust rewarded with a shudder or a curse, the jagged whine of overstimulation. When he bent down to bite at her ear, she bit back. When he pinned her wrists, she arched and bucked, daring him, her laughter as bright as her starved cries. He wondered how long she'd been waiting for this how many times she'd imagined it in her space, how her fingers must have failed to satisfy the ache he now fed.
