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The fire hisses. Our skin is damp. My heels dig into the backs of his thighs, pulling him deeper, and he gives me what I want, harder now but no faster, every stroke dragging over the spot that makes me gasp.

It builds slowly, then all at once. It rises from somewhere deep and warm, and I come with my eyes open, looking straight at him, my fingers crushing his, my body arching off the throw. He watches every second of it, his jaw tight, holding himself still inside me while I clench around him.

He doesn't come. He pulls out, and before I can protest the emptiness, he flips me onto my stomach.

His palm slides down my spine. Over the small of my back. Over the curve of my ass. He kneads the flesh. Then his hand lifts away, and a slap cracks across my skin.

I jolt against the throw. Heat blooms where he struck, and before the sting fades, his lips press against the spot, soothing it. His hand comes down on the other side. His mouth follows.

He grips my hips and pulls them up until I'm on my knees, my cheek against the throw, my ass raised to him. His hands spread me open. Then his tongue. He licks me from my pussy all the way up, slowly, dragging his tongue over my tight hole. I gasp, fingers clawing into the throw. He does it again. He circles it and presses against it, wet and insistent, and I push back into his face before I can stop myself.

He hums against me and the vibration runs straight through my body. He then rises behind me. I hear him stroke himself first before the head of his cock slides through my pussy, back and forth, coating itself in my wetness and the cum he left inside me. Then it slides higher and presses against my anal hole.

He stops. His hand settles on my lower back, warm and still.

"Do you still trust me?"

He's still waiting. Still leaving it with me.

"Yes," I breathe.

He pushes forward, but it’s just the tip. The pressure is enormous, a burning stretch that locks the air in my chest. He holds there without moving, his thumb stroking circles on my hip.

"Relax," he says. "Breathe for me."

I let the air out. My body loosens around him.

"That's it. Let me open you up."

He sinks deeper, inch by inch, pausing each time I tense and waiting until I soften again. The fullness is unlike anything I've ever felt. Too much, and then somehow not enough. When his hips finally press flush against my ass, he's buried to the hilt, and we groan at the same time.

"Fuck, you're tight," he grits out.

He starts to move. Short, shallow strokes. Then longer. He grips my hips and pulls me back onto him as he pushes forward, and the burn melts into something darker and deeper that spreads through my whole body.

He slaps my ass again and I cry out. He does it once more and picks up his pace.

The fire roars beside us. Every stroke drags a sound out of me I've never made before, and I stop caring how loud I am. I push back to meet him.

He pulls out completely and I groan at the loss, as he slams back into me in one long push, burying himself to the root. The breath leaves my body in a scream.

He folds over me, his chest to my back. One hand flattens on the throw beside mine, and he slides his fingers between my own and holds on. His face presses into the space between my shoulder blades, his breath ragged against my skin, and he fucks me like that, deep and hard, our fingers locked together.

His other hand slips beneath me and finds my clit.

"Cum for me," he says against my spine.

He rubs tight circles while he pounds into me, and it's too much: the fullness, the pressure, the heat of the fire, his weight on my back. My body seizes. I come with a sob, clenching around him so hard he swears into my skin.

He pulls back to the tip, drives into me one last time, and holds there. His hips jerk. His groan vibrates through my back, and I feel him throb inside me, hot pulses filling me with his warm seed, as he grinds slow and deep until he's completely spent.

For a long moment, the only sounds are the fire and our breathing. Carefully, he pulls out. He turns me over and gathers me against his chest on the throw. His lips press into my damp hair. My body feels liquid. I couldn't move if I wanted to.

Ross strokes my back until my breathing slows to match his. Then he stands, lifts me into his arms, and carries me toward the stairs.

"Where are we going?" I whisper against his neck.

"Shower."