“How do you even exist?” he asks, hushed. Sweat pearls over my skin, drips between my breasts. I cross my wrist around his neck, looking for support as I move on him. His gaze fixates on something past my shoulder. The wall mirror behind us.

He’s staring at us. At me. At my ass moving over him. “You like it?”

“Fuck,” he chokes out, and I drop a kiss onto his cheek.

“It’s okay. I know you do.” He’s in as far as he can go. “This is the most full I’ve ever been. And you have seen my dildos. Remember?”

“Christ.” His knuckles brush up and down my flank. Inside, he’s splitting me up, but his touch is butterfly-light. “I remember. I fucking remember.”

“Yeah?”

“Afterward, I told myself that it was a good thing. That maybe you enjoyed…that you’d be able to take me easier.”

My hold on him tightens, something close to a hug. There is pleasure here, smeared with the pain of the stretch. I wonder how I’ve managed to live without it so far. “Does anyone?”

“What?”

“Take you easily.”

He shakes his head.

“Good. I’ll be the one.”

His hand lifts to my cheek. “Maya, you already are.”

I come right there, suddenly, before he does. It’s like a natural disaster, violent and unsettling. Good, fucking biblical, even, but it rips me, tears me apart and bleaches my head white.

When my vision stops spotting, his breathing is racehorse-fast, mouth half-open. His hands are around my waist, thumbs resting on my hip bones.

“The hardest part of the last three years,” he says, words punched out of his lungs, “was knowing exactly what you look like when you come.”

I’m still twitching, little contractions around his cock. “You like making me come, don’t you?”

“I like everything about you.”

“I just want to return the favor, Conor. Is it too much to ask?” I squeeze him with my internal muscles. Watch him shudder. “Let me give you this.”

He shakes his head. “Harder.”

“What?”

“I can make you come harder than you already have.”

I laugh. “I don’t think that’s possible. And we agreed that I’m the one in charge. You said you’d do what I tell you—”

“Tell me, then,” he rasps against my jaw. “Tell me to pull out and curl my fingers inside you and eat you out until you pass out from it.”

“No. I already—”

“I don’t fucking care. Tell me.”

Against the gentle burn of his beard, I say, “No.”

He lets out an annoyed, guttural sound. “Then ask me to go deeper.”

“What?”

“Tell me to get inside you even deeper.”

“I don’t think that’s possible—”

“Tell me to go fucking deeper, Maya.”

It sounds like an order, but he’s begging. That’s why I nod, without expecting the way he tilts my pelvis. A grunt, and then he’s in to the hilt, and—

“Fuck,” I say.

“Tell me to move you. Tell me to show you how to use my cock to make yourself come.”