I move to her jaw. Her neck. I bite the joint of her shoulder, and she gasps, her fingers tightening. I suck a mark there deliberately, feel her pulse jump under my mouth.
Down to her collarbone. Her sternum. I cup her breast in my palm and take her nipple into my mouth and suck, slow and focused, and she arches clean off the mattress with a sharp cry that echoes off the stone walls.
"Oh God—"
I do it again. She's squirming underneath me, hips rolling, fingers in my hair holding me there. I give her what she wants, taking my time, switching between them until she's shaking.
"Please," she breathes. "Please, Axel—"
"I've got you." I kiss down her ribs. The soft plane of her stomach. I feel her muscles jump under my mouth.
Then lower.
She spreads for me before I even ask, one hand going immediately to my hair. I look up at her from where I am, and she looks back at me, chest heaving, eyes black with wanting.
I lower my mouth to her.
She cries out, hips snapping up. I hold her steady with my forearms and work her slowly, learning the sounds she makes, cataloguing what pulls those broken little whimpers from her versus what makes her grip my hair hard enough to sting. I find the rhythm that builds her up, and I keep it, relentless, not rushing, feeling her thighs tremble against my shoulders.
"Don't stop," she says. "Don't you dare stop."
I have no intention of stopping.
She comes undone slowly, the orgasm cresting and cresting before it breaks, her back bowing off the bed, her thighs clamping around my head, my name tearing out of her throat raw and desperate and unmistakable.
I don't stop until she's pushing at my shoulders.
I climb over her, settle between her legs, and her hands go straight to my face, pulling me down to her mouth. She kisses me deep and slow, tasting herself on my lips, and the sound she makes against my mouth nearly finishes me before I've started.
"Now," she says against my lips.
I push inside her.
We both go still.
Her eyes close. Her mouth falls open. I stay there, buried in her, forehead dropping to hers, just feeling the heat of her, the way her body fits around me like the question already knew the answer.
"Move," she whispers. "Please."
I move.
Slow at first, deep, watching her face because her face is the best thing in the world right now, every expression raw and unguarded. Her hands slide to my back, nails dragging lightly.
"You feel incredible," I tell her, low against her ear. "Every fucking time."
She makes a soft, desperate sound.
"Tell me what you want."
"Harder." Her hips roll up to meet me. "I want to feel it."
I give her harder. Her breath punches out with each thrust, her nails going from light to sharp. The headboard finds the wall. I don't care.
"Look at me," I tell her.
Her eyes open.
"Good girl." I feel her clench around me the second I say it. "You like that."