her voice cracked open something raw in his chest — a nerve, a wound, a truth he tried to keep buried. she wants this. no hesitation. not even a flinch. just her, reckless and real and begging like she was born to say his name like a prayer. and goddamn, he believed her. the moment stretched, thin and electric, before he exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw ticking like he was trying to hold onto some last shred of control. but she was moving against him — fuck, she was always moving, grinding that slick heat against the tip of him like she knew exactly how close he was to breaking. he didn’t respond with words — not real ones anyway — just a guttural grunt that vibrated low in his throat, half-warning, half-surrender. then he moved. fast. brutal. unforgiving. his hips surged upward in one fluid motion, sliding inside her with a force that stole the air from both their lungs. she clenched around him like a vice, impossibly tight, soaked and scorching, and he felt it all the way down to his marrow. his body shuddered against hers, muscles locking for a split second as if giving himself a moment to breathe through the pleasure-pain of it — of being home again. then his mouth crashed down on hers, sloppy and desperate, tongues tangling as he kissed her like he was starving and she was salvation.
his fingers clawed into her hip — hard — like he needed to brand her with nothing but touch, to remind her (and himself) that this wasn’t some dream cooked up in a lonely bed. she was real. alive. his. and the way she clamped down on him, molten and greedy, nearly made him see stars. his kiss bruised, devoured, claimed every inch of her mouth like it owed him money. like it owed him everything. and maybe it did. maybe they both did. but none of that mattered now — not debts, not time, not the past that hung like smoke between them. only this. only her. only the way her nails raked down his back like she was trying to peel away every layer until she reached the part of him that still remembered how to love without hurting. he broke the kiss with a wet curse, panting against her lips, sweat beading along his temple. “ jesus fucking christ, babydoll... ” he rasped, voice frayed at the edges, like it cost him something to speak at all. then he moved again. not slow. not gentle. just more. deeper. relentless.