Her struggle is forgotten the instant she feels the press of his flesh. She's thrown into open space for one delicious second, breath caught in her throat, heart skipping a beat, weightless and thrilled. She tosses her head back as he slides inside her, letting out a sharp cry of pleasure.

Jesus. The fit is still tight; she barely notices the way his grip tightens on her wrist.

(Or the way her grip tightens in his hair.)

She hooks her leg over his hip, pressing him in deeper. Little by little, inch by inch, thighs trembling around him. God, she almost hates this, and all she can think is more.