He knew how to read her better than anyone had ever tried to before - knew exactly what she wanted, what she needed before she could even articulate in words. So, she moved against him, and he moved against her, and it was more than enough friction to bring her closer and closer to falling apart completely.

She was grateful when he held her a little tighter, a little more steadily, and she could rest against him more fully without fear of him letting go. She was safe here. She didn't need to feel afraid.

And as he urged her to lose herself to her pleasure, she stopped fighting it and just let it wash over her, his name the only thing she could think to cry out, over and over again.