It was the collision - the meeting of everything, all at once, in one fluid motion, compiling and exploding and bursting into flames. It was the collision that kept her there, kept her coming back, kept her hungry eyes on him. It was made up of the drive to Ellenâs, of their rip-roaring fight, of the phone calls and texts and crying alone in the bus station, of dancing in a coffee shop, of warm baths, of distracted foreplay and bad sleep, of wild heartbeats and tearing open the past and sobs and hugs and kisses and I love yous.
Thinking went out the window when he was naked and she wasnât. Hunger and exhaustion were forgotten, just the sounds of fast inhales and heavy exhales, of hands running over skin and sighs that trailed up to the ceiling. She was always aware - in awe - about how he touched her body. Hungry, but not demanding nourishment, in reverence, in worship. It made her feel every bit as beautiful as he claimed she was.
His hands grabbed her hips, fingers curled into the waistband of her underwear and got rid of them before she could so much as say please.
The way he spoke was sure, commanding - in any other world, she might have been frightened by him, threatened by him. Promises to forget and promises of capture. She was his and there was nothing they could do about it. Tonight, that was exactly what she wanted. She wanted to forget. She wanted to leave today behind and be owned by someone. Except my name. In obedient praise, she breathed out the first letter.
He kissed her and cut off her voice, hard and restless, his body pushing her into the bed and earning another moan against his lips. It seemed to happen quickly and yet not fast enough, her need reminiscent of the friction against her nerves and his mouth over her and the weight of his body - her mouth opened with his and he pushed in and she wasnât sure if she screamed with pleasure or moaned or sighed or anything but she knew she was seeing stars. He pinned her hands overhead, her thighs squeezing his hips and her back high off the bed.
She was dizzy-drunk instantly. No other names circled her head and she couldnât breathe when he moved and she never wanted to come down again. She sent greedy moans of thanks down his throat. She said his name, and only his name.
âHarder,â she ordered from her helpless position, body submissive but eyes full of fire. âQuentin, go harder.â
The entire world in that moment consisted of only what happened in this hotel room; just him and her forever. No regrets. No thinking. Just the feeling of their bodies dancing together to create magic. Every moment inside of her was one he wanted to revel in. Shrader pleaded and he complied, snapping his hips harder and faster, gripping her hands with the same amount of intensity. And he was already sweating, face hot from the movement and the sensation of the pulling in his abdomen.Â
He thrusted his hips with speed and vigor, lips clumsily bumping against hers. Quentin loved the closeness, chests pressed together, more than anything. But he wanted this to be a night sheâd remember, to look back on and only think of how it felt for him to be inside of her and when she came. âBaby, Iâm gonna turn you around, okay?â He smoothed a heated kiss onto her neck before taking her hips and lifting them higher.
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