As if this would be our last time, or perhaps my body was trying to claim him before I left.

It was almost rough and ugly in a way, but I needed to be owned by him. I needed to own him. Feeling that rise up in me, I sat up, released his dick, and shoved his pants down.

His eyes met mine, hungry, smoldering, dark. He continued thrusting his fingers inside of me, and I bucked against his hand. He lifted his other to cup the side of my face. His hold was tender, such a contradiction, and I gasped, freezing in his hold. Tears spilled from my eyes.

He wiped one away with his thumb, a question coming to his eyes, but I leaned in.

Touching my lips to his, gently, I whispered, “Fuck me hard. I don’t want to see by the time you’re done.”

His eyes searched mine, and a hard and feral look slammed over his face. His nostrils flared, and he gripped me once again, but this time, he lifted me and turned me around.

Bending me over the counter, he yanked my hips up and back, and he leaned over me, “Like this?”

“Yesssssssssss,” I breathed.

He stripped me bare, ripping my underwear off along with his clothes, and I felt him against every inch of me from behind. He leaned over me once again, one hand resting on the counter beside my head, the other on my hip as he lined up at my entrance.

“Like this?”

“Yes,” I panted.

He thrust inside.

I cried out, but I couldn’t help myself. As he pushed all the way in, I was shoving right back. We fucked hard and rough and brazen, and I almost wanted to be punished. But what Reese was doing to my body was not that. It was so far from that. I began crying toward the end as he slowed and began to pepper kisses down my spine, as his hand curled around my thigh, caressing down to my ass, then roaming back up to cup my breast from underneath me.

His touch felt almost loving, and that wasn’t what I wanted at all—but maybe I did? Maybe this wasn’t only what I wanted from him?

He held still, inside me, both of us gasping. “What is this?” he asked quietly.

I sniffled, unable to quiet myself.

“Charlie.” More insistent.

A thrust, hard.

“Answer me,” he grated, sliding out and back in once more. “What am I doing here?”

I couldn’t talk. The tears were choking me, but the pleasure had me paralyzed. Such a fucking contrast, because that’s what I was—a big fucking mix of insanity.

“Charlie.” Another firm plunge, and I cried out because it felt so fucking good.

I lifted my head, sitting up as much as I could.