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“I know,” he murmurs darkly, one hand flattening against my stomach to hold me still while he rolls his hips slowly, dragging the tip against me again. “Feel how fucking wet you are for me?”
God.
The stretch hits the second he finally pushes inside.
Slow at first.
Deep enough to make my mouth fall open immediately while the pressure of him spreads through me inch by inch, thick and overwhelming after months without him. The drag of his piercing makes it worse in the best possible way. Sharp little flashes of sensation that leave my thighs trembling before he’s even fully inside me.
“Fuck,” I gasp, head dropping forward when he bottoms out with a rough groan against my shoulder.
It feels too full.
Too good.
Like my body remembers him instantly and hates me for ever trying to go without.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he mutters wreckedly before his hips snap forward hard enough to shove the counter into my thighs.
The cabinets rattle behind us immediately.
So do my thoughts honestly.
I smirk coyly, gripping anything I can to hold on as he slams into me, and fire back mouthily, "Yeah? Prove it, asshole. Fuck me harder."
My breath catches embarrassingly fast when his grip tightens harder against my hips, possessive enough to bruise, like letting go of me isn’t even an option anymore.
And the worst part?
The really humiliating part?
I like it.
A lot.
His mouth drags against my throat while every movement turns rougher, deeper, and desperate in a way that feels less like sex and more like somebody finally snapping after holding themselves together too long.
“Fuck,” he growls against my skin, voice wrecked enough to send heat spiraling straight through me. “There she is. My perfect fucking fix.”
The words hit low in my stomach instantly.
Because there’s something almost feral in the way he says it.
Not playful, but obsessive.
Like he hates how much he needs this and surrendered to it anyway.
His hand slides up my body slowly, fingers spreading across my ribs like he’s trying to hold onto all of me at once while his eyes stay locked on mine with this dark, starving intensity that makes my pulse trip over itself.
“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” he mutters roughly.
The laugh that leaves me comes out breathless and shaky around the edges.
“Probably something deeply emotionally damaging.”
His grip tightens immediately.
“Months,” he says, almost angry now. “Months trying not to fucking need you like this. Then you walk back into my life looking like trouble and drugs and bad decisions—”
