[action]

[One of his hands left her hip to do something fast and rough, impatiently dextrous, to his own clothes. Then both hands were back, fingers curving around her thighs, palms flush with her skin, kneading her flesh, pushing himself up her body to his feet. His hair, his face, as he rose, rippling a wake in the fabric still covering her stomach, abdomen, chest; his hands sliding up her legs to grasp and hoist her up. All part of the single movement, he was in her as his head reached her neck. Lips and teeth found hinge of her jaw. One hand fisted her shirt in the low hollow of her back. His other hand struck the wall behind her to brace his tremortaut arm—as he pushed into her, full.

For an instant he freezes, running all his senses over her like a diagnostic. Making sure there's no pain response.]