She lies back, her blonde curls a tangle of warm sunlight against his sheets. The hand she had around his neck falls next to her head, slightly curled, and she watches him as he presses against her, as his hand works faster over her sensitive skin.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. She doesn't want to break the contact. She doesn't want to look away. But he has her steadily approaching the precipice, and she's struggling to stay quiet. Her eyes squeeze shut of their own volition, a murmuring moan caught in her throat.

"Gene."

Her hand curls in the sheets.


(The other curls in the flesh of his backside).