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For once, she listens. She pulls the dress over her head and drops it somewhere near the chair, then climbs onto the mattress in nothing but her underwear, which is still damp and pushed crooked from my hands. I take it off slowly, and she spreads her thighs before I ask. The trust in that almost makes me lose the thread of what I’m doing.

Almost.

I strip quickly, then come over her, bracing one hand beside her head. She reaches between us, wraps her fingers around my cock, and guides me where she wants me.

I stop.

She looks up at me, breathing harder. “What?”

“I need to be careful.”

Her expression softens by a fraction. Not annoyed this time. She knows what I mean. “I’m okay,” she says. “I’ll tell you if I’m not.”

I believe her because she says it plainly.

So I push into her slowly, one inch at a time, and the feeling of her around me—hot, tight, still pulsing from what I did to her in the kitchen—drags a sound out of me that I cannot control. Maggie hears it and her legs lock around my hips.

“Oh my God,” she whispers.

I press my forehead to hers, fighting for patience. “Still okay?”

“Yes.” Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Move.”

I move. Slow at first, because she’s sensitive and because I want to feel every second of it. She meets each thrust like she has been waiting for this part, lifting her hips, pulling me deeper, her mouth open against my neck. When I shift the angle, her breath catches, and I know I have it right.

“There,” she says, almost angry with it. “There.”

I keep that rhythm. Her breasts move with every thrust, and I lower my mouth to one nipple again, sucking hard enough that she cries out and tightens around my cock. The sensation nearly finishes me. I have to stop for a second, buried deep, my hand gripping her hip.

She blinks up at me, dazed. “Don’t you dare stop.”

I laugh once, rough and breathless. “You’re demanding.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

I thrust into her harder, and her answer turns into a moan.

There’s no distance left between us now. No careful language. No teasing buffer. She takes me like she wants to be taken, and I give her what she’s asking for, one hand on her breast, my thumb working her nipple, my mouth at her throat, my cock driving into her until the bed starts to hit the wall in a rhythm neither of us bothers to stop.

She comes again when I reach between us and find her clit with my thumb.

The second I touch her there, she gasps my name, and I rub her through it while I keep moving inside her. Her body clamps around me so hard I lose the rhythm for a second. She shakes under me, face turned into the pillow, one hand fisted in the sheet, and I watch her come undone with a kind of satisfaction that feels almost primitive.

Mine, some part of me thinks.

She’s still trembling when she looks up at me. “Again.”

The word is so soft I almost think I imagine it.

Then she reaches for me, pulls me down, and says it into my mouth. “Again.”

I have no defense against that.

I roll us carefully so she’s on top, because if she wants more, she can have it, but I need to see how much she can take. She settles over me with a shaky inhale, hands on my chest, hair falling around her face. For a moment she looks almost shy, and then she moves her hips and the shyness disappears.

She rides me slowly at first, then faster, finding what she wants with a focus that makes my hands tighten on her waist. She’s flushed all over now, breasts heavy and moving with each roll of her hips, nipples still hard from my mouth. I sit up enough to take one into my mouth again, and she makes a sound that is almost a sob.