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“If you don’t fuck me right now I will lose my mind,” she hisses, grabbing fistfuls of my shirt.

She yanks at my belt, not deft but determined, and her fingers slip against the buckle. Her mouth finds my ear, hot breath and the press of teeth, while her legs drag me in closer, locked around me.

I don’t even bother pretending control anymore. There’s no art to it, no slow seduction, just the raw necessity of getting inside her as fast as I can.

I shoulder her legs wider, shove my jeans down far enough to free my cock, the press of hunger in my belly hitting hard as she guides me in.

She’s so wet I sink in up to the hilt, and the way she grinds against me, tipping her hips, destroys any remaining vestige of self-control.

I lose every last tether of it. I fuck her into the countertop, her knuckles whitening as she clings to the edge to keep from being shoved off.

Her head tips back, throat arching, and I bite down again, marking a constellation across her skin. She wants me to do it: I can tell by the way her pussy clamps and milks and drags me deeper every time I get mean.

She’s gasping, moaning as I ram into her, her soft voice hoarse. I can’t get enough of the edge in it. I want her to teeter, fall, shatter entirely.

“You feel so fucking good,” I growl in her ear, biting every word. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Yes. Yes. Please…” Laurel’s voice is a bright wire, strung so tight it could cut right through me.

I push her harder, fucking her with enough force to rattle the cabinets, and the sound is obscene, slick and hot and needy. I want to fill every inch of her until she’s stretched past her own edges, until the present blots out every thought except the two of us rutting on this goddamn laminate.

Her heels drum against my hips, spurring me on, and she’s clutching me so hard my cock aches, the ache spiraling up my spine.

“Don’t stop,” she claws at my shoulders, her breath hitching whenever I slam in deep, and I lose whatever instinct I had to be careful.

She can take it; she wants it, wants to be wrecked into some new shape.

I want her crying for it. I want to make a noise come out of her that’s never existed before. She squeezes her legs around me like a tourniquet, her pussy insatiable and desperate, and when I reach up to snatch her hair and pull her head back, exposing her throat, she comes apart.

Brutal, guttural, shuddering so hard, I have to tighten my grip on her hips to keep her where I want her.

Her moan is a ripcord; I can feel it vibrate on my palm as I clamp my hand back over her mouth, squeezing her cheeks, punishing her with the pounding of my hips. She’s trembling, spasming, pupils blown wide, claws sunk so hard into my shoulders I’ll be tattooed with half-moons for days.

“More,” I growl, not a question. “Give me more.”

She nods, frantic, and I don’t let up. Fucking her through every aftershock, forcing her up and over the edge again.

Laurel’s legs quake against my hips, ankles locked as if she’ll never let go, her moans muffled under my palm. My teeth find her shoulder and I bite down, hard enough to feel her gasp echo through muscle and bone.

Her pussy clamps around me, desperate and greedy, rippling in thick waves. There’s a rawness in her noises now, a new tear in the voice that means she’s close to crying or laughing or both.

Her whole body shakes apart in my hands as she peaks again, almost taking me with her, but I’m not ready yet. I want this to last, to watch her disintegrate, so I fuck her even harder, enough to make the house shake, snapping my hips until my thighs burn and her knuckles nearly punch through the fake marble counter.

Then, she’s shaking loose in my arms, half folded over my forearm and barely able to breathe, and I force myself to slow down, eyes locked with her as I push deeper, harder, psyched on the way she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing left in the world that matters. I want to freeze that moment forever, I want her to stay right there, wide open and vulnerable… and gasping my name as she falls over the edge.

Her pussy ripples around me, so tight I don’t know how I manage to still hold back. Her hands drop to my arms, just above the elbows, where she can dig in and hold tight as my hips speed up, each thrust setting the kitchen rattling. I kiss the wet track of a tear off her cheek, to taste the proof that I did this to her. That she wanted me to.

She shakes with little aftershocks, fucked out and dazed, and finally lets her head flop forward to my shoulder, forehead mashed against my collarbone. The effort of it makes her laugh, a shredded, ragged exhale with my name in it.

It’s ugly, volcanic, a choke of breath and heat as I bottom out and she grabs my ass, nails raking down, urging me deeper. I shoot in her, wave after wave, my vision blown white at the edges.

There’s just Laurel, eyes wet and triumphant, her mouth bruised from my kisses, cheeks streaked with tears. She’s laughing, she’s sobbing, she’s everything I can’t make sense of in this moment.

We clatter against the cabinets, catching ourselves at the last second, and just hang there, strung together, gasping desperately.

Then her phone rings.

We both freeze.