Their moans twined together like fragments of the same thread. He kissed her hungrily, clumsily, and she was the same. “Fuck me,” she breathed between the hot, rushed meetings of their lips. “Oh my God, Jacob, fuck me. You should’ve bent me over. Wait, why aren’t we in a bed?”

His laugh was tight and shaky. “Later. We’ll ruin the bed later.” Then he gripped her hip for leverage, holding her down as he began to thrust. It wasn’t exactly easy. Actually, it wasn’t remotely easy. He was glad, though; concentrating on the logistics made it easier to keep from coming. If he had been fucking her in a bed, if he’d been lying over all this brilliance just dicking her into the mattress, it’d probably be over by now.

As it was, he could already feel that rising tide of relief coming for him, an electrical storm of pleasure coalescing at the base of his spine. He gritted his teeth and fucked harder, reveling in the feel of her skin, her softness, the sounds of her sharp little screams. “Eve,” he groaned, burying his face against her throat. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that his glasses—his spare glasses, at that—were going to be fucked, but frankly, he didn’t give a damn. “God, Eve.”

“Tell me,” she panted, rocking desperately against him, her nails digging into his back. “Tell me.”

“So fucking good,” he choked out. There was this thing called grammar, Jacob recalled, but he’d forgotten how to use it and it seemed unnecessary. “Fuck, Eve, so good. Do you want more, love? Tell me what you need.”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “More. Harder.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how he managed it—sex-induced super strength, or something like—but Jacob lifted her to the side without breaking their connection, rolling them both until Eve was splayed back on the desk and he was leaning over her. The desk creaked. Several files fell dramatically to the ground, as did his keyboard. The desk lamp fell, too, with a loud thud, and suddenly all the light in the room was behind them. But he could still make out the tortured bliss on her face, so he didn’t give a fuck.

Jacob grasped the edge of the desk behind Eve’s head, held on tight, and thrust hard.

She made a noise that could be described as incoherent, or perfect, or both, and then she held on to him and sobbed, “Jacob.” Her body arched in invitation, her legs spread wider, and he felt the first tight, tense flutterings of her impending orgasm. If he’d thought this couldn’t get any better, that he couldn’t burn any harder, he’d clearly been wrong; now everything about him was aflame.

“Do you like that?” he asked, just for the satisfaction of hearing her gasp—

“Yes.”

He thrust harder, deeper, and she met him every time, until they were writhing together in a mess of grunts and moans and sweat and sighs, until her breathy sounds became sharp, building screams and her soft, pliant body turned rigid beneath him. There was barely a second of stillness before she shattered, as beautifully as before, her hands twisting in his hair and her body shuddering around him. He watched her with an ache in his chest so intense it made him shudder, too, and then suddenly the ache was everywhere and he was moaning as he came hard, hard, hard.