She tips up to meet my next thrust and grips my shoulder with one hand and my hair with the other. We find a rhythm, moving with and against each other. I can’t get enough of her soft moans and quiet pleas for more. Of the way she shudders under me. Or the way her eyes flare and her nails dig into my back when she whispers, “Oh God, Chase. I—I think—I think I’m going to come.”
