"You're not—" It got away from her and she finished it through her own fingers. "You're not helping."
I put my hands on her and stopped being able to think in full sentences myself.
Which was the point. Which was the whole point. Two days of a countdown in my head and a name I couldn't run down and a city coming apart outside, and for the first time since I crossed the walls there was nothing in my skull but the woman above me moving fast and the sound she was trying not to make.
My palms found the soft give of her hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows just above the bone, steadying her without slowing her. The mattress answered every shift of her weight with a low, continuous complaint.
Heat built between us—skin to skin, the slick friction of her moving, the tight, wet pull of her around me each time she came down. Her pussy clenched and dragged along the full length of my cock, hot and soaked, the wet sounds of her body taking me filling the small dark space between us.
