I dip my head down to take him into my mouth, hearing the rumble of a moan inside his chest. I wonder if he needs this as much as I do. This closeness. Wonder if he needs me as much as I need him.
“Stop,” he says half-heartedly, fingers caressing the back of my head, doing the opposite of what he’s saying.
I turn my gaze up. Slide my mouth over him.
He watches me, something sad in his eyes as he closes his fingers in my hair, his cock growing thicker, harder. I taste him, the first salty drops as he guides himself deeper.
I curl my hands around his thighs and relax my throat as he takes control. He’s slow at first, watching me as he guides me over him. But as the urgency grows, his fingers pull at my hair and his breathing changes. The muscles of his thighs tense beneath my hands as he begins to fuck my face. He’s slow at first until he can’t anymore. He rises to stand, bracing one hand on the edge of the desk as he leans over me, gripping a handful of my hair, keeping me still as he watches me take him. Watches me catch my breath every time he draws out. Watches me swallow his cock as he pushes deeper and deeper, thrusting faster. But all the while I can see he’s fighting with himself. This urgency, this desire to take. To fuck. To own. Fighting this thing. Fighting us. When I choke at the next thrust, he curses as he pulls out, abruptly releasing me.
“You should go,” he says, his voice gravelly, thick, not sounding like him. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I can do it,” I say, thinking he stopped because he thought he was hurting me. When I try to take him into my mouth again, he grips my hair again, pulling my head back. He looks down at me with that tortured look on his face. “Let me try again. Please,” I say.
His eyebrows furrow. It’s as though in his head he’s in another world. He drags me up to my feet. I stumble, reaching out for his chest to steady myself and there’s that look again, that broken thing deep inside him surfacing. A thing that can’t be fixed.
“Fuck, Mara,” he says, and he pulls me to him, kissing me hard. “Fuck.”
Before I can ask what it is, what’s going on, he shifts his grip to lift me up. He sets me on the edge of the desk and opens the robe to look at me. I set my feet on the armrests of the chair behind him and his gaze drops between my spread legs.
“I’m yours,” I say. I am. I’m only his. Only ever been his. I don’t understand why he’s resisting the pull between us.
He drops his head, shakes it, then moments later kisses the space between my breasts before licking one nipple, taking it between his teeth and sucking.
I cry out, wrapping my hands around the back of his head, feeling every sensation like a live electrical wire starting at my center and spreading out inside me. I want to come. I need to come.
“Please,” I gasp when he draws back, my nipple hardening in the sudden cool of the room with his warm mouth gone. He gives me one glance before taking the other nipple, my breath catching as he brings his mouth to mine and presses his cock against me.
“One more time,” he says, cupping the back of my head with one hand as he lays me down gently on the desk. “Just once more.”
Once more? I don’t understand but before I can ask, before I can say anything, he’s inside me, stretching me, gaze locked on me. His thrusts are barely controlled, and I wrap my legs around him, arching my back, wanting to get closer, closer, needing to.
“Christ. Fuck.” He takes hold of one thigh and bends my knee back, shifting my position a little. I moan because, like this, I feel him deeper inside me.
“I’m going to come,” I manage, my eyes closing as he leans down to kiss me, both hands on my face now as if he’s imploring me to open my eyes, to look at him. And when I do, what I see breaks my heart. Even as my body bucks beneath his, and ecstasy washes over me, my heart splinters as it does. As I hear his words, understand their meaning. “I love you!” I cry out, desperate.
He leans his head against mine, stopping for a moment, sweat slick between us. He holds me tight, mutters a curse, and resumes his thrusts more powerful than before as he groans his release, emptying inside me.
And I think this is it. I know it is. The last of him. The last of us.