“I’m not leaving, I’m not fucking leaving until—ever.”

“Good—I missed you.” We kiss, messy, sloppy, too fast. “I missed you.” My hand is in his boxers, and I’m pulling his cock out, and maybe it’s the way I lick my lips, but he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Maya. Love.” His hand in my hair. “I don’t think now is the best—”

“Really? That’s funny.”

“Why?”

“Because I do think now is the best.” It’s nice, feeling the weight of him over my tongue, the stymied exhale as his head falls back. He feels too big, and perfect. Twitches at the light scrape of my teeth, the way I part my lips and suckle the head, studying every intake of breath, every flutter of his eyelashes.

His hands in my hair, holding, not pushing.

My name, whispered, groaned, pleaded.

A muttered, “Fuck.”

After a little while he keeps my head still and he thrusts inside my mouth, slowly, gently. “Fucking hell, Maya.”

I suck, a strong pull. His fingers tighten against my scalp, trying to pry me away.

“Maya,” he warns.

I hum around his cock. Feel him shiver.

“I’m really trying to be a gentleman here.”

A lurid pop. “Are you?” I ask, delighted by the roll of his eyes as I lick the underside of the head.

“Yeah. But—” I twist my hand at the base of his cock, and his words catch. “But I’m starting to think that you’d let me do anything to you, Maya. Anything at all.”

“I’m not sure how—oh—how you had missed it before—what are you—?”

He has my back pressed against the mattress, and is inside me, just like that. A little too hard, too fast, the burn of the stretch otherworldly, the multiple thrusts until he really is all the way in, ruthless, perfect—

“Yeah,” I say.

“Jesus, Maya.” His hands close around my wrists. Trap them above my head. “You have no damn patience.”

Not when it comes to you, I want to say, but my mouth is too full of his kiss.

“I haven’t taken a single breath since Sicily,” he says against my ear, inhaling me, rolling his hips into mine. “I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s fucking distracting. You are disruptive. Of my work. Of my sleep. Of my ability to think.” I thought he was all in, but no. Another push, and he bottoms out. “Fuck. Fuck. You feel better than anything I could make up with my mind.”

I smile against his jaw. Try to free my arms. Realize that I can’t. So I say, “Conor?”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to fuck me a thousand times. Everywhere you humanly can.”

He very nearly comes. His breath is loud, a rough exhale against my shoulder, then a deep grunt as his hands rip the sheets off the mattress as his cock jerks inside me. “You are so fucking dangerous.”

I grin, and he splays me open like I’m a doll, unmoving under him, and kisses and kisses and kisses me, the shallow, lingering slide of his mouth against mine, his hand coming up to the stem of my neck to angle me to him, and I try to move my hips so that we can finally—