Stan kept fucking her hard, keeping the pace he had promised.
Each stroke was a long, careful question her body learned how to answer. When she tensed he shortened the motion and kissed her through it. When she softened he gave her more of the length and waited for the sound that meant yes.
As she moaned, his mouth found her breast again, sucking slow, fondling the other as if attention itself were a way of holding her together.
Amelia's world narrowed to that rhythm. The first-time burn receded into fullness, then into something that startled her by wanting. She moved with him, small, instinctive lifts of her hips, and the discovery that she could meet him made her eyes sting for a different reason.
"Stan,"
"I'm here." His voice was wrecked and steady. "Let it happen. I've got you."
