Page 25 of Wreckage and Rain

"I want to hear you."

She lets me hear her.

I bring her right up to it and stop. She makes a sound that is half curse and half plea and she grabs my hair.

"Colt. Don't."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Tell me what you want, baby."

"Make me come. Fuck. Make me come on your mouth."

"There she is."

I put my mouth back on her. My tongue on her clit, my fingers curling forward inside her, the exact rhythm I know she can't stop for, and she watches me, eyes wide, and I watch her go. She comes hard. Her thighs shake and close around my head and her hand fists in my hair and she says my name three times like a sentence she can't finish. I keep going until she pushes gently at my hair, the small mercy.

I come up. She pulls me down by the back of the neck and kisses me. I taste like her. She makes a sound at that.

"Off." Her hands at my belt. "Off off off."

I get the rest of my clothes off. She watches me, propped up on her elbows, the most unselfconscious naked woman in the state of South Carolina, and she looks at me like she could write a paper on me, and I am hard enough to drive nails.

"Come here."

I come.

I get over her. She wraps her legs around me. I push into her in one slow stroke and she lets out a long breath I haven't gotten tired of hearing yet.

Fuck.

"There you are," she says.

"Here I am."

I move. Slow, how she likes it when we have time. She holds my face in her hands and watches me, and there is no version of being looked at like this anywhere else on earth.

"Faster, Colt."

I go faster.

"Harder."

I give her harder. She arches up to meet me and her hands move from my face to my shoulders to the back of my neck, and her nails are in me, the small bite that has come to mean she is getting close again.

"That's it, baby. Right there. Take it."

She takes it.

"Tell me whose this is." Against her ear. Low.

"Yours."

"Whose."

"Yours, Colt. It's yours. It's always been yours."