Page 67 of Grimoire Girls Expulsion

He doesn't stop. The charge comes down his arm and into his fingers and into me, a hum deep inside that makes my thighs shake, and he presses it right up against the spot that makes me see stars. I come with my mouth open against his shoulder, crying out into the rain, clenching around his fingers and shaking so hard my teeth knock together. Through the thread between us, his want comes rushing back into my chest, hot and bright.

He keeps his fingers in me until I stop shaking. When I open my eyes, they're stinging again, and the rain has nothing to do with it.

"I keep seeing her," I whisper. "Up here with you, showing off. I close my eyes and she's right there."

"I know. Me too." He kisses my forehead, then my mouth, gently this time. "Do you want to go down?"

"No." I wipe my face with the back of my wrist, which does nothing at all in this rain. "I want you to fuck me hard enough that I stop seeing her for a while. Don't be careful with me. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," he says roughly. "I can do that."

He turns me around and bends me over the smaller chimney, and I catch myself on the wet brick. My bad shoulder takes my weight, and I hiss before I can stop myself. His hands start to come off me. I swear at him until they come back, and I shift onto my good arm and brace my forearm on the brick.

He drags my leggings down to my knees and shoves his jeans down. I feel the head of his cock against me, slick and hot in all that cold, and then he grips my hips and pushes into me in one long stroke, all the way, and I cry out and push back to take every inch of him.

Then he stops, shaking, buried in me with his forehead against my back, holding the storm down with everything he has, and I can feel through the bond how much it's costing him.

"Move," I groan, rocking back on him. "I swear to God, if you get careful on me now, I'm going to push you off this roof myself."

"I'm not getting careful," he growls, and moves.

He fucks me hard, like I asked. The sound of it is loud even under the rain, wet skin slapping on wet skin, and I can feel everything he's angry about coming out of him through his hips. I push back to meet him and tell him harder, and he gives me harder.

"Look at you." His voice doesn't sound like his. "Taking every inch of me and pushing back for more. You'd let me fuck you right off the edge of this roof if I tried, wouldn't you? Greedy."

"Shut up and—" I lose the end of it when he bottoms out, and I clench on him until he groans through his teeth.

The charge is everywhere now, in the slate and the gutters and the copper flashing around the chimneys. Every time he drives into me, it jumps between us with a crack, and blue light flashes off the wet brick under my hands, and I shout and tighten around him.

"Touch me," I pant. "I'm close, I'm so close, I need your hand on my clit⁠—"

He reaches around my hip and finds it, swollen and slick, and rubs it rough and fast. My hand slips on the brick, and he catches me around the waist and keeps going. I come with my forehead against the wet brick, my whole body pulling at him, shouting into the rain with no words in it at all.

He loses his rhythm. I feel it go, his hips stuttering against me, and he groans into my wet hair and pulls me back onto him as deep as I can take him. His cock jerks inside me, and the heat of it floods up the thread into my chest a beat later.

The flashing round the chimney spits a shower of sparks into the rain, and he holds the rest of the lightning in. He holds all of it, shaking against my back, while it goes on and on.

When it's over, he stays inside me until I reach back and put my hand on his hip. Then he pulls out carefully, and I turn around, and my knees go. He catches me.

"Told you," he mutters into my hair. "I said I'd hold you up."

"Don't get smug." My voice is a croak. "You're barely standing either."

We get down onto the flat part of the roof between the chimneys. He drags his soaked shirt back from where he threw it and spreads it over us, which doesn't cover much of either of us. He lies on his front with his face on the slate and his arm heavy across me, and I lie on my back beside him with the rain on my face.

"You tore my shirt," I tell the sky.

"You laughed."

"It was my favorite shirt." My voice cracks partway through, and I let it. "You're buying me a new one. I want the kind with a wolf howling at the moon on it, the uglier the better, and you have to look me in the eye when you hand it over."

"Fine."

"I love you," he says into the slate.

It comes out of him rough and scraped up, as if it's been stuck in his chest since his mother died.

I love him. The words are right there, and it would be so easy to say them. But I've spent all day hating myself, and I don't think I have anything good enough left tonight to give anyone, least of all him. So I don't say it back.