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“Tristan,” I breathe. Nothing else, just his name. “I know,” he whispers, just as I did, and slides inside me. I gasp, my hips bucking off the floor and my nails scratching down his back. He growls at the feeling and starts pushing harsh kisses against my neck. His thrusts are agonizingly slow and deep. I tilt my hips to meet each one, silently begging for more. I've never understood the concept of making love. I've never seen sex as anything but a physical expression of passion and I can't understand how it could be slow and emotional. Sex is about orgasms, which are brought on by friction
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