That’s when the dam breaks. The fear, the anger, the eternal days of fighting this gravitational pull between us—it all snaps. My other hand finds the curve of her waist, pulling her against me. She gasps, but her free hand fists in my shirt, dragging me closer.
Our first kiss isn’t gentle. It’s a collision of teeth and desperation, a battle for control neither of us wins.
“God, I hate how much I want you,” she gasps against my mouth.
“Then stop,” I growl.
She drags me closer instead. “You first.”
“You know I can’t,” I admit, breathless and raw.
“Exactly.”
I back her against the wall, my body pressing hers into the plaster. Her nails scrape against my scalp, pulling me deeper into the kiss.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she breathes against my mouth.
“I know.”
I yank her sweater over her head in one rough motion, the worn cotton catching briefly on the stubborn jut of her chin before I tug it free with impatient fingers. My mouth finds the pulse at the base of her throat—that delicate hollow where her lifeblood thrums just beneath the surface, betraying the rapid-fire rhythm of her heartbeat.
Her skin tastes of salt and defiance, a heady combination that makes me groan against her, the sound vibrating through both of us. Ellie's hands fumble at my belt with uncharacteristic clumsiness, her fingers trembling with urgency as she struggles with the buckle. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps against my temple, each exhalation warmer than the last.
“Slow…” I start, because even now I’m trying to control something.
“Don’t you dare slow down,” she snaps, fierce and breathless. “Not this. Not now.”
“This changes everything,” I warn.
Her laugh is jagged. “Everything already changed. We’re just catching up.”
When her palm finally closes around me, warm and sure despite her earlier hesitation, I can't help but rock my hips into her touch, my teeth grazing the sharp ridge of her collarbone in response. The way her breath hitches at the contact sends a jolt of possessive satisfaction straight through me.
We don't so much move to the bed as crash into it—I lift her easily, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist as I carry us the few stumbling steps to the mattress. The way her eyes widen when I hoist her up, dark with surprise and something deeper, something hungry, sends a primal thrill through me.
“Careful,” she breathes, though she doesn’t sound like she wants careful at all.
“I’m trying,” I rasp.
“Don’t,” she whispers, eyes dark and steady on mine. “For once… don’t.”
There's no pretense here, no carefully choreographed seduction or practiced restraint. Just the raw, aching need to be inside her, to feel something honest and real beneath all the lies and tension that have built between us like layers of armor, each one thicker than the last.
I make quick work of her joggers, dragging them down her hips along with her panties in one impatient motion, barely giving her time to kick them free before I'm pushing into her in one hard, unrelenting thrust.
Ellie cries out, the sound ragged and unfiltered, as if wanting this primal moment between us was a secret she was keeping from both of us. Her head falls back against the pillows, exposing the long, vulnerable line of her throat. Her hips rise to meet me as her thighs tighten around my waist, pulling me deeper with a desperation that mirrors my own, like we're both trying to erase the distance between us in the only way left.
Every surge into her feels like both a punishment and a prayer—a way to exorcise the frustration between us while also seeking absolution in the heat of her body.
“Say it,” she demands, voice shaking. “Say you wanted this.”
“I always wanted this,” I grind out. “That’s the problem.”
“Then stop pretending I’m the only one who’s reckless,” she fires back, breath hitching. “You’re right here with me.”
“I know,” I say, and it sounds like surrender.
Her pussy throbs around me, hot and wet, and her heels dig into the small of my back, urging me on with silent, frantic insistence.