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His fingers slide between my legs and brush my clit. I am already wet from the kitchen, and my knees soften. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull him closer instead of letting him turn it into a question.
He kneels between my legs, but I catch his face before his mouth reaches me.
“Up here.”
He stands, smiling against my palm. “Bossy.”
“Yes.”
I reach for his belt while he is still smiling, and by the time his pants are on the floor, his cock is hard against his stomach. I wrap my hand around him once, and his eyes close.
“Condom.”
“Nightstand.”
He gets it and gives it to me. I tear the packet open and roll it down his cock while he watches my hands.
“Still slow?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He sits back against the headboard and I climb over him. He takes my hips as I lower myself until the head of his cock presses against me.
I pause there for one breath, then take him inside me inch by inch.
His breath leaves him rough. “Fuck, Astrid.”
For a while it is what it has been. I settle all the way down and start to move, and I find the angle that sends pleasure tightening low in my stomach, and he lets me have it.
“Right there.”
His grip firms, keeping me there.
Then it stops being what it has been.
He sits up under me. He does it easily, which is information I did not have this morning. One arm comes around my back and the room turns over, and he takes me off him and puts me face down, and I am still deciding what has happened when his right hand settles at the small of my back and presses me into the mattress.
I could stop him. Two fingers against his chest has worked every time I have used it, and he has never argued. I cannot reach his chest from here.
He knows that. He leans over me with his left forearm on the mattress beside my face, takes my right hand, and closes two of my fingers around his wrist.
“Still works,” he says against my ear. “You tap, I stop. You don’t, I’m done asking.”
His pulse is under my fingertips. It is not slow.
“Yes or no, Nilsson.”
“Yes.”
He pushes into me from behind and takes the rest of the sentence I had ready.
There is more of him this way. I knew that in theory. I did not know what it would be with his hand holding me down and nothing of mine underneath me to brace against, and the first three strokes go deeper than anything we have done.
“Harder.”
He stops. All the way inside me, his hand flat on my back, and not moving at all.
“Try that again.”
