either him, or her. or both, as a matter of fact. that option would suffice the most.
continuing to angrily poke at your bowl of food, you stared at newt and a girl from one of the other mazes. you're pretty sure hers was all girls. you don't care, but it would explain her behaviour after freshly seeing a fairly attractive guy for the first time in who knows how long.
they sat at the table directly in front of yours, her legs straddling the cafeteria bench as she faced newt; her elbow on the table holding her head up while her other hand played with newt's white long sleeve, round eyes innocently staring up at him. she was saying something to him—some flirty, nonsensical bullshit, you suppose.
newt smiles down at her, laughing now and then at something she whispers in his ear. he goads her actions.
screw him, and screw every single boy in the entire world. so easy, so simple to attract and tempt. the two of them might as well just take each other on the table in front of everyone at this point, if they're going to be this shameless and obvious from a first encounter.
"if you're gonna keep abusing your food, you might as well give it to me," a deep voice says from behind you, the person coming to sit down to your right.
"yeah, just take it, minho. i'm not hungry anymore."
you slide your bowl to him, which he gladly takes and begins to eat out of. you look at him and he nods towards newt.
"is that why? 'cause i understand it's not fun watching your man get seduced by a totally hot girl. but don't worry, y/n, you're much hotter than her," he says almost unintelligibly while chewing.
you hit his arm playfully, mumbling, "he's not my man, and he can do whatever he wants with any girl. what is it to me?"
he laughs. "yeah, keep telling yourself that. because if you're going to lie, at least don't stare at them like you want to take both their heads off."
you roll your eyes at minho and sigh, turning your head and focusing back on newt and the girl.
"i don't want to be here anymore. i'm genuinely gonna be sick if i keep watching this shit. get a room, for god's sake."
you maneuver your legs over the bench and sit up.
"enjoy the food, shank. i'll see you later," you tell minho.
"thanks, and you enjoy living in denial!" he shouts after you as you walk back to your dorm in the girls section. it was weird being away from the boys you've been sleeping next to for the past two years, but you managed to brush off your anxieties after the first three nights.
as you're walking down the lonely hallway, your arm is suddenly grabbed and your whole body is pulled back into an empty room on the side. you gasp and spin around to identify the person who grabbed you, raising your hand to initiate an attack. very quickly, however, that hand is lowered once newt shuts the door and turns around to face you.
"woah, sweetheart, you gonna hurt me, yeah?" he laughs, walking closer to you.
"a natural reaction when you're kidnapped, don't you think?" you reply as you take deep breaths, adrenaline still rushing from the prior shock. he smirks as he stops a few steps away from you.
"actually, i don't reckon kidnapping counts when someone just wants to see their friend. you left dinner early, too, so i couldn't see you."
you scoff, ignoring and walking past him towards the door. newt doesn't like this though. if he wanted you to leave, he wouldn't have grabbed you in the first place.
"hey hey hey, what's the matter?" he pushes the door shut again from behind you before you can fully open it to escape. turning back around to face him, you realize he's much closer than before, and it causes your body to tense. you move away until your back hits the door, and newt stares at you with a worried and confused look.
"why are you trying to leave, love? i'd imagined you'd be glad to catch up since it's been a bit hectic the past few days," he says concerningly, bringing his hand up to move a strand of your hair off your face.
this is when your panic sets in. why are you upset? why are you so bothered by what he does with other girls? you and newt have only been friends since you came up on the box as one of the first girls in the glade. sure, the two of you are the closest out of the rest, but you have never crossed the boundary of friendship. never.
and though sometimes—especially late at night when your body doesn’t quite feel like your own, or when he rests his hands from behind you low on your hips like an anchor while you’re standing in a group, claiming it’s just so you don’t get lost in the crowd—you feel something pull at you. but you never let it show. because wanting more would mean risking everything, and friendship is the only thing you’re sure he’s offering.
but you’re only human. you can only restrain yourself for so long before the bitterness starts to seep in.
you cross your arms and avoid eye contact, muttering, “well, unfortunately, you looked a bit preoccupied during dinner—so i doubt catching up was the only thing on your mind.”
instantly, regret encompasses your entire being. you should know better than to show him how upset he's got you from one conversation with a random girl. heat rushes up your neck and your eyes find his again, and you wish they didn't.
he doesn't have concern written on his face anymore.
he’s smirking now—slow, amused, like he’s savouring the way your jealousy just slipped out. like he’s known all along and was just waiting for you to crack.
and god, that look on his face only makes your uneasiness worse.
"oh, so you noticed then?" he inches a bit closer, eyes surveying every part of your face. "guess it was more obvious than i'd wanted, but she's bloody gorgeous, isn't she?"
you force yourself to keep all the composure you have left. just endure this small talk with him, and then leave and go to bed in one piece.
"mhm. very pretty. and very interested in you as well. maybe you should do something about it, considering we don't know how much time we truly have left in this shithole," you respond, voice optimistic and laced with a hint of sarcasm. you hold his eyes, unwilling to reveal your sourness again.
he smiles, clearly pleased with your obviously disingenuous response. he places his hands on their familiar spot on your hips.
"there's just a tiny problem," he mentions. "do you know what?"
he moves in even closer, your bodies less than an inch from each other. looking down at you, he quietly gives his response.
"i can't exactly picture myself doing certain stuff to her. and you know very well how i am—my mind has to make sense of something before i do it... and it just doesn't, not with her."
you should be relieved at his confession. but your body tenses up even more for some reason; the space in the room becomes strangely smaller.
you should nod and tell him you have to go to sleep. tell him that you're tired and that you'll see him tomorrow morning. maybe even console him and remind him that there are many other girls here. but your mind is fuzzy and your body is much more affected by your proximity, even though it should be routine by now.
so you ask—innocently and curiously so, with a tilt of your head.
"what kinds of stuff? really, i can't imagine it'd be as difficult as you say—" you're cut off by his right hand grabbing the side of your neck, thumb on your cheek, gently turning it so he can lean in and speak into your ear.
"a lot of the naughty stuff i dream of doing to you."
you're beyond dumbstruck, breath hitching and heart hammering in your chest so hard you're embarrassed he'll hear. your arms drop from your chest straight down, hands resting on the door behind you by your waist.
his thumb grazes your jaw, moving your head back so you can face him. his dark eyes hold yours as he closes the gap between your bodies, his hips flush against yours.
"stop fucking with me, newt," you whisper.
but your voice betrays you—too breathless, too soft to sound truly angry.
his eyes don’t waver. if anything, they darken. he tilts his head just slightly, as if he’s studying you, cataloguing every flicker of resistance and want etched across your face.
“i’m not,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”
his hand slightly moves down from your jaw to the side of your throat, resting there—not threatening, just grounding, like he’s making sure you don’t disappear. like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away.
"it's funny, really. you can easily notice when another girl is flirting with me, but you can't notice when i'm flirting with you. and i've been flirting, trust me, sweetheart," he chuckles, his chest reverberating the deep sound as the hand on your throat drops back down to your hip. "two years of it, i'd like to mention," he mumbles in that smooth accent of his.
your self control is running unbelievably thin, but one thing you'll always do is hold a grudge—remember.
remember the girl's hands on him.
her seductive and very telling gaze.
and worst of all, newt's grin as he encouraged her affections, indulged in them. he savoured it. and you weren't gonna let your best friend of all people play you like a fool.
so you lift your chin, biting back the lump in your throat and every word you’ve swallowed for the past two years. your voice comes out low, laced with something bitter.
“go back to her then.”
his brows knit, just slightly. “pardon?”
you meet his eyes head-on this time, ignoring the heat still pulsing in your chest.
“she clearly wants you,” you continue, tone cutting and cool. “you should take her up on it. might be easier for both of us.”
he blinks like you’ve slapped him, even though his body doesn’t move—still pressed against yours, still blocking every inch of your exit.
“easier?” he echoes, confused—and something else too, something sharper.
you shrug. “yeah. i mean, you were already halfway there at dinner. you’re good at letting girls fawn over you. might as well make the most of it.”
he exhales through his nose—half a laugh, half something exasperated. he shifts just slightly, and even that minimal movement sends your nerves sparking.
“you think that’s what that was?” he asks, his voice lower now, almost disbelieving. “me letting someone fawn over me?”
“i don’t know, newt,” you say tightly. “i just call it like i see it.”
his jaw flexes. for a moment, he doesn’t speak—and then, quieter:
“i flirted back,” he says, “because you were watching.”
his eyes are on yours now, unblinking. the hands on your hips tighten just slightly.
“you looked at me like you wanted to rip her head off. i’d never seen you like that before. and as twisted as it is, yeah—it made me want to push it further. just to see how far you'd let it go before you snapped.”
your breathing is shallow, but you say nothing. because he’s right. and he knows it.
“i’ve been waiting for you to crack,” he murmurs. “two years of pretending this is just friendship. of pretending that touching you like this doesn't mean anything. but it always means something.”
his chest rises and falls against yours. there’s no space left between you—not physically, not emotionally.
“and tonight? when you finally cracked? when you stormed out like that? it just confirmed it.”
his thumb brushes against your waist now, barely there.
“you feel it too. don’t lie to me.”
you just move—slow, cautious, but deliberate. your hands cover his where they grip your hips, grounding yourself before your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt like you need something to hang onto.
your hips shift—just the smallest movement—but enough. enough to press up into him, enough to say what you refuse to say out loud.
he lets out a guttural, “fuck,” and his forehead drops to yours, eyes closed, jaw tight, like it’s taking everything in him not to move.
your hands trail up, brushing along his arms before finding his neck. you don’t even realize how tightly you’re holding on until your knuckles ache.
you don’t speak right away. can’t. your throat is dry, heart lodged somewhere between your ribs and your mouth.
he waits, barely breathing, and somehow that silence is louder than anything he could’ve said.
“newt…” you murmur, and it comes out broken. not pleading. not sweet. just raw. stripped down.
he doesn’t answer—just swallows, hard.
you close your eyes, like that might make it easier. it doesn’t. “you drive me insane.”
you feel him twitch against you at the confession.
“but i do,” you breathe. “i want you.”
and that’s all it takes for the restraint between you to snap clean in half.
he opens his eyes a little, hooded and filled with lust as they meet yours. his mouth moves painfully close to yours, noses touching one another.
"yeah, love? wanna show me how much?" his lips ghostly touching yours as he speaks.
you let out a soft whimper before nodding and finally connecting your lips to his. he lets out a low noise of approval, pushing you further into the wall as he deepens the kiss. his tongue enters your mouth, slow at first—like he’s savouring every second he’s finally allowed to taste you. you respond instinctively, tilting your head and parting your lips wider, letting him take more.
his body presses harder into yours as the kiss intensifies—hot and breathless, messy in a way that speaks to everything you've both held back. he kisses you like he's starving. like he’s waited years to have you like this. and maybe he has.
he pulls back the tiniest amount to let you both breathe, chests heaving as a line of spit connects your mouths. his eyes flit between both of yours.
"i've wanted to do that for the longest bloody time," he murmurs.
you gulp, staring at his slightly swollen lips. "me, too."
his hands move up and down your sides, trying to memorize all the parts of your body he restrained himself from touching during your friendship.
"newt?" you say as he dips his head to softly kiss at your neck, lips slowly taking their time to mark every visible part of your skin.
"yes, sweetheart?" he mumbles against your throat.
your hands slide into his messy hair, gently tugging them. this earns a groan from the boy, and you note this reaction in the back of your mind for later.
your breath quickens. your body is going insane at the feeling of his lips as they move from one side of your neck to the other, kissing the front of your throat in the process. you need friction, you need to feel something—need to feel him more. your eyes shut.
"please touch me, i need—" you grip his hair a little tighter, causing his hips to push back down on yours with a grunt, "—oh my god, like that, i need to feel you more like that. please," you practically beg.
newt pauses his assault on your neck, mouth still lightly touching your skin as he brings it up to press into your ear.
"feel me more?" he mumbles, yet his voice is clearer than ever directly next to your ear. one of his hands drop to your inner thigh, slightly opening your legs more. "you want to feel my dick grinding on you again, yeah?"
you're speechless. he's reduced you to just whines and gasps, and he hasn't even done half the things he wants to do to you yet. all you can do is mindlessly and rapidly nod your head.
"say it, sweetheart. use your words and tell me what you want me to do."
your hips lift again to touch his, opting to show him rather than tell him. but his hand on your hip pushes them back against the door, refusing contact. his face comes very close, right in front of yours. the hand that moved your thigh grabs your chin, raising your head so your eyes meet his.
"i want to feel you on me, newt. wanna feel your dick, please," you say as humanely quiet as possible, too embarrassed to raise your voice.
but it's enough for newt. enough for his brain to short circuit and completely irrationalize everything in the entire world.
"god, you're amazing. good— good fucking girl, you want to ruin me, don't you?" he utters, hand dropping from your chin to grab under your thighs and lift you up. your arms instantly wrap around his neck in response, shocked and, once more, forgetting his strength.
he walks over to the available couch—in what you now understand to be a WCKD storage room—and sits down, placing you on his lap. his hands that are on your waist drag your body closer to his.
"there you go, darling. you can feel whatever you want, however you want. show me."
your legs tighten around his sides as you settle into his lap, breathing uneven as you brace your hands on his shoulders. he leans back slightly, letting you take control, his eyes locked onto yours.
you shift once, experimentally.
you do it again, slower this time, dragging your hips across his with a friction that draws a sharp inhale from both of you. your palms slide down his chest, grounding yourself as your rhythm builds—testing, pushing, letting the tension unravel between your bodies in steady, aching waves.
his hands stay glued to your waist, not guiding, not forcing—just holding, like he might fall apart if he doesn’t have something to grip.
"fuck," he mutters, head dropping to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin. "just like that, love… keep going. you're gonna make me lose my goddamn mind."
you grind harder, slower—circling your hips with more purpose now, chasing the high you’ve both been dodging for way too long. his hard length presses up against you through your clothes, and the friction, the pressure, it’s too much and not enough all at once.
your head tips back, a breathy moan escaping you as you grind down again.
"feels good?" he asks, voice thick, low, wrecked.
you don’t answer. not with words.
instead, you roll your hips harder—sharper—grinding down until his fingers dig into your waist and his hips jerk up helplessly beneath you.
"shit, you’re unbelievable," he hisses, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "look at you… using me like that. you know what that does to me?"
you bite your lip, leaning forward until your lips ghost over his, your breath fanning across his mouth.
"yeah," you whisper. "i do."
and you grind again—slow, steady, purposeful.
"i—no more—i can't anymore, jesus. you're gonna make me finish before i even taste you."
his voice is wrecked, words pushed out between ragged breaths as his head falls back against the couch, neck flushed, jaw tight. his grip on your hips falters just slightly, like he’s barely holding on, every muscle in his body tense beneath yours.
you slow your hips to a lazy grind, just enough pressure to keep him teetering on that edge. his breath catches again, a choked noise slipping past his parted lips. you lean in, brushing your nose along the side of his jaw, lips hovering by his ear.
“that’d be a shame,” you whisper, voice all sugar and venom. “i was really looking forward to you using that pretty mouth.”
a low, strangled groan rumbles in his chest, and you feel it everywhere. his hands tighten around your waist, holding you still, grounding himself like it’s the only way he won’t lose it right here.
“fuck, don’t say shit like that unless you’re ready for me to get on my knees right now.”
you hum, hips shifting just slightly. “maybe i am.”
his hands fly to your thighs, gripping hard, and in one breathless motion, he lifts you—just enough to slide you down onto the couch beside him. your back hits the cushions, and before you can speak, he’s already on his knees between your legs, eyes locked on yours with a look so dark, so hungry, it robs the air from your lungs.
“you don’t get to tease me like that and not let me ruin you,” he growls.
his fingers are already trailing up your legs, slow and purposeful, thumbs brushing the insides of your thighs as he inches closer—his breath hot, lips parted like he’s seconds away from diving in.
“tell me to stop,” he says, voice low, breathless.
you stare down at him, chest rising and falling fast, your body practically vibrating with need.
you don’t tell him to stop.
he doesn’t wait for more permission. doesn’t need it. your silence, your expression, the way your legs shift open wider—it’s enough.
his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants, slow but confident. his eyes don’t leave yours for a second as he slides them down your legs, underwear included, until you’re bare for him, flushed and aching and already too worked up from everything that’s come before.
he drags his hands up your thighs again, kneeling between them like he’s worshipping, like he’s settling in.
“gonna pay you back properly for that little stunt,” he mutters, eyes dropping to between your legs.
but he doesn’t kiss you there. not yet.
instead, he ghosts his mouth around your clit, deliberately avoiding it. kissing everywhere but where you need him most—your inner thighs, your mound, the crease of skin beside where you’re pulsing. barely brushing close enough to feel, but never landing.
you squirm, hips twitching toward him.
he grips your thighs tighter, holding you down.
“what’s wrong, love?” he murmurs mockingly, breath hot against your skin. “you didn’t think i’d let you do that to me and not give it right back?”
you whimper, thighs tensing beneath his hands. “newt, please—”
he finally kisses just next to your clit, a maddening flick of tongue too close and too far all at once. you choke on a moan.
he pulls back slightly, eyes rising to meet yours. “look at you. fuck, you’re already shaking.”
then—he flattens his tongue and licks a slow stripe up your folds, still not touching your clit, just collecting your arousal on his tongue like he’s tasting something expensive.
and then—then—his thumb finally brushes over your clit, gentle and experimental at first. your back arches immediately.
he hums. “so sensitive already. that’s from just grinding on me, yeah? filthy girl.”
his thumb rubs again, firmer this time, slow circles that pull ragged gasps out of your throat. your hips try to follow his motion, chase it, but he pulls back just enough.
directly on your clit, the sound obscene, the visual worse—and you see it all, because he’s still looking at you, direct eye contact, like he’s daring you to fall apart.
his mouth wraps around your clit now, tongue flicking, sucking softly, then harder, alternating in maddening patterns. and just as you start to unravel, his hand slides up—fingers sliding between your folds—and he pushes one inside.
you let out something between a moan and a sob.
“that’s it, sweetheart,” he mutters, lips still brushing your clit between every word. “take it. take all of it.”
he adds a second finger without warning, curling them perfectly as he sucks harder. your thighs clamp around his head, and he groans into you like he lives for it.
you’re so close it’s blinding—nothing exists but the sounds he’s making, the drag of his fingers, the pace of his tongue.
“newt—” your voice is hoarse, barely more than a gasp. “i—i’m gonna—”
“do it,” he growls, voice muffled. “come on, love, finish for me. want to feel you lose it on my mouth.”
it hits fast and hard, your back arching clean off the couch, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as waves of heat roll through your body. he doesn’t stop—not until your thighs tremble, until you’re whimpering from oversensitivity, trying to squirm away.
only then does he finally pull back, lips slick, breath uneven. he kisses the inside of your thigh—soft this time—and looks up at you with a goddamn smirk.
“fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “you taste better than i imagined.”
your body’s still twitching with aftershocks when you finally manage to sit up, thighs trembling slightly. newt watches you with blown pupils, chest rising and falling like he’s been holding his breath for the past five minutes.
you straddle his lap again, skin sticky and flushed, and for a second, he just stares—like you’re something unreal, like he doesn’t know where to look.
then your hands slide to his shoulders, and with a firm push, you whisper:
his eyes flash with surprise—but it’s the kind he likes. he grins, that crooked, breathless grin that makes your stomach twist, and lets you guide him down against the couch, settling between your legs like it’s the only place he ever wants to be.
you swing your leg over him again, thighs still unsteady as you settle on top, grinding lightly against the obvious strain in his pants. his hands find your waist like they were built to be there, but before he can speak, you tug his shirt up.
“off,” you say softly.
he obliges without hesitation, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. the second it’s gone, your eyes drink him in—golden skin, soft lines cut by muscle, hair tousled and sweat-slicked.
your palms settle on his chest, and your gaze trails over every inch of him.
“hell,” you mutter under your breath, tone somewhere between admiration and disbelief. “how do you even look like this?”
his breath hitches, lips curving into a smile that’s both cocky and dazed. “well, i could say the same, couldn’t i?”
you don’t answer with words—just peel off your own shirt and toss it to the floor. his reaction is immediate. his hands trace up your sides like they’ve been aching to, thumbs grazing just beneath your breasts before he leans in and wraps his mouth around one. the other he palms gently, tongue flicking, lips soft but hungry.
you moan, hand tangling in his hair as your hips shift against his again, more urgent now.
you reach down to push his pants lower, and he lifts his hips to help you. when he’s fully bare beneath you, you hesitate for just a moment—taking in the sight of him, flushed and ready, hard and aching.
he notices. he always does.
“still alright?” he asks, voice low, accent thick and laced with restraint.
you nod. “just… want it to be slow.”
“right,” he says, quiet, gentle. “c’mon, love. take your time.”
you position him at your entrance, breath catching as the tip pushes in. the stretch is sharp—burning just a little—but you steady yourself, hands pressed to his chest as you ease down.
his hands tighten on your hips. “bloody—” he cuts himself off with a groan, head tipping back. “you’re warm… so bloody warm.”
you hiss softly, trying to adjust. it’s overwhelming—he’s overwhelming—and you pause halfway, your body pulsing around him.
“breathe,” he says, voice strained but patient. “don’t rush it. just feel.”
you do. slowly, you lower yourself more, inch by inch, the burn slowly giving way to something fuller, deeper. your forehead dips, your breath stuttering out as you finally sink all the way down.
he’s deep—so deep—and you can feel every twitch of his body beneath you.
“look at me,” he says quietly.
his eyes are dark, mouth parted, chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.
“you feel… incredible,” he says, almost reverent. “like you were made to take me.”
you bite your lip, a whimper escaping as you shift your hips, just a little.
his fingers dig in harder, a low sound rumbling from his throat.
“just let me know when i can start fucking you, sweetheart.”
your breath stutters, hips stilling as you adjust to him—stretching around him in a way that makes your entire body ache and burn and need. his grip stays steady at your hips, but not forceful—he’s holding himself back, barely.
you lean in, forehead nearly touching his, breath warm against his lips.
“you can,” you murmur, voice trembling. “please, newt—move.”
his eyes flicker shut for just a second, like the words hit something deep. “yeah?” he breathes, hands tightening ever so slightly. “alright, love. i’ve got you.”
he moves slowly at first, guiding your hips as he lifts his own into you with a careful, deliberate thrust. the pressure knocks a soft moan from your throat, and his head falls back against the couch with a strained exhale.
“sodding—hell,” he mutters under his breath, looking back up at you, eyes dark with awe. “you feel… unreal.”
you start to move with him—tentative, searching for rhythm—and he follows, matching you with soft, deep thrusts, his hands stroking over your waist, up your back, anywhere he can touch.
your breathing quickens as you fall into sync, the sting fading into something consuming and hot, and every roll of your hips makes him stutter a little harder beneath you.
“you alright?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your skin where your shirt used to be. “you’re shaking…”
you nod, barely managing a sound. “don’t stop.”
he smiles—soft, breathless.
“wasn’t planning to.”
his hands find your face now, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he leans up to kiss you, slow and messy. every thrust after is deeper, more desperate, but still careful, still newt—like he’s trying to make sure you remember every second of this.
“look at me,” he whispers into your mouth. “need to see you.”
you do. and when your eyes meet his again, something shifts—deeper than just the physical. his expression falters, like seeing you like this—eyes wide, lips parted, taking all of him—is too much to process.
“bloody hell,” he breathes, brushing your hair back, his thumb gently dragging along your cheekbone. “you’re—”
he doesn’t finish the sentence. maybe he can’t.
because your hips roll down against his at the same time his meet you halfway, and the sudden pressure knocks a sound out of you that’s almost too loud for the tiny room you’re in.
“newt—” you gasp, fingers gripping his shoulders, nails pressing half-moons into his skin. “right there, right—don’t stop, please.”
his jaw tightens, and he nods, breath caught in his throat. “yeah. i’ve got you. just keep movin’—just like that.”
you grind down again, chasing that sweet, burning friction where your bodies meet. your legs are shaking now, thighs quivering around his sides as you start to come apart faster than you thought possible.
he feels it—feels your body clench around him—and it punches the air from his lungs.
“sh—shit, you’re close, aren’t you?” he pants, eyes locked to yours like it’s all he can do. “c’mon, love, let go. let me feel it.”
you don’t need more encouragement.
your body tightens, and the wave crashes—white-hot and all-consuming, making you cry out his name as your entire body pulses around him. your vision blurs, every nerve alight, and you collapse forward into his chest, trembling and gasping as the orgasm rocks through you.
his arms wrap around you instantly, holding you steady as you shake.
“that’s it,” he whispers into your hair. “good girl… i’ve got you.”
you barely have time to come down before he shifts beneath you, letting out a sound between a groan and a choked laugh, like he’s on the edge now.
“you’ve no idea what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, voice thick and broken. “i’m not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that.”
your lips brush against his collarbone as you breathe, still wrecked, still open around him.
“then don’t,” you whisper. “want to feel you.”
he groans low and guttural, hands gripping your hips as he thrusts up into you again—harder now, sloppier, rhythm faltering as he chases his own release.
“oh god—christ—you’re perfect,” he rasps, teeth clenching, chest heaving beneath you.
you moan again, still sensitive, but loving it—loving him like this, so undone, so raw beneath you.
with a final thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can go, groaning your name into your shoulder as he comes—his entire body tensing, trembling, his breath hot against your skin.
you hold him close through it, hands threading into his hair as he falls apart underneath you, every inch of him pressing into you like he can’t get close enough.
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