"Stay still," he said against me. "Let me."
"Hakan—"
"Let me." His tongue moved in long, deliberate strokes. "You always try to rush this. I never understand it. I could spend hours here, Ada. I have thought about spending hours here." He did something with his mouth that made me cry out and I felt him smile against me. "There. That's what I was looking for."
He brought me to the edge slowly, methodically, backing off every time I got close — until I was shaking, fingers fisted in the sheets, completely at his mercy and aware of it — and then he finally pushed me over with his fingers curling inside me and his mouth exactly where I needed it, and I came apart with his name on my lips and his hands holding me through every wave of it.
He rose over me while I was still shaking.
"Good girl," he said quietly, looking down at me — flushed, undone, breathing hard — and the softness in it hit me somewhere behind the ribs. Not condescension. Something else entirely. Pride, maybe. The kind that doesn't diminish. "That's it. Look at you."
He stripped his shirt off and settled between my thighs, his cock hard and hot against me, and I reached for him but he caught my hands and pinned them gently above my head, both wrists held loosely in one of his — not roughly, just holding, maintaining something — and looked down at me with that expression that made me feel like he was reading every thought I'd ever had.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"I want you inside me."
"I know you do." He didn't move. "How much?"
"Hakan—"
"How much, Ada."
"Desperately," I said, and hated how true it was, and loved that he needed to hear it. "Please."
He pressed into me slowly — slowly enough to feel every inch, slowly enough that I had to breathe through it — and when he was fully seated he stopped, his forehead dropping to mine, his exhale long and controlled, like a man exercising extraordinary restraint.
"You feel—" He stopped. Tried again. "Every time. I don't have words for it. Every time it's like the first time and I still don't have words for it."
"Move," I said. "Please move."
He moved. Long, deep strokes that dragged against every nerve, his mouth finding my jaw, my throat, my ear — and then his voice, low and close, meant only for this room:
"You take me so well." His hips rolled and I gasped. "Every time. Like you were made for this. Like you were made for me specifically." Another stroke, deeper, and my nails found his back. "Are you going to be good for me tonight?"
"Yes—"
"Yes what?"
"Yes," I said, and pulled him closer by his shoulders, "don't stop?—"
"I won't stop." He picked up the pace and I felt it everywhere, felt the bond opening wider between us, his pleasure layering over mine until they were inseparable, until I couldn't tell where I ended and he began. "I'm never going to stop. Do youunderstand that? I will take you apart all night if that's what you need. Whatever you need. Anything." His voice was fraying at the edges now, that careful control beginning to slip. "You're so perfect. You're so — Ada, look at me —"
I looked at him. His jaw tight, eyes dark and wholly focused on my face, shadows curling across the sheets around us like they couldn't help themselves.
"There," he said roughly. "Stay with me."
His hand slipped between us and I choked on a sound that was half his name and half nothing at all, and he watched my face while he worked me toward the edge again — intent, relentless, whispering against my mouth: *that's it* and *good girl* and *I've got you* and *let me feel you, I need to feel you?—*
When I came the second time it hit differently — deeper, longer, my whole body arching hard against him — and he groaned and buried himself to the hilt and held there, shuddering, his hands gripping my hips with a reverence that contradicted their firmness, like he wanted both things simultaneously and couldn't choose between them.
He came with his face pressed to my neck and my name in his mouth, and for a long moment afterward neither of us moved.
We lay tangled together in the dark, his breathing gradually slowing against my shoulder, his hand moving in slow absent circles along my spine.
"Ada," he said eventually, voice still rough.
"Mm."