He dips his head down, his lips meeting my ear. "Say it and then I'll fuck you."
I'm actually panting now. "I - I don't-" I stammer. "I still don’t understand?"
Oh my God, what is he saying? What is he talking about? Is he okay with this?
He pushes himself up, leaning on one forearm. Grey irises nail me to the mattress, demanding, dead fricking serious.
And yet, I struggle to form words.
"I told you, Cassidy," he says, a hint of some kind of emotion knotting his voice up - anger, maybe, guilt, perhaps. "I fucking swore it. I'd never let anything happen to you again. I fucking said it and now something has. I need you to say it. Or I've failed you again."
Tears squeeze from the edges of my eyes, painting salty streams down my temples and on his pillow. "No, Max," I say, pressing my hand to his perfectly coarse cheeks. "I know you are still getting used to me being a constant in your life. This can't just be my decision-"
His face tightens. "Who said that?"
My breath catches at his suddenly fierce expression. "What?"
"Who fucking said I'm still getting used to you?"
Blinking the tears out, I shake my head once. "No one, but-"
"Have my actions not been clear?"
"Um, yes," I say because they have. I think. "I just feel like this is all a lot for you. Up until a few months ago, a girlfriend was worse than polio and now-"
The fingers in my hair twist, tethering me to his fists. "I'll spell it out then, Cassidy. I want you here. Every day. In my fucking bed. I'm not getting used to you. You are what I want. I thought I made that clear already."
He leans down and kisses a tear as it falls. This is all too much. I think he's saying he's okay with this? That this is happening? That he supports my decision? Is that what's fricking happening right now? "And the baby?"
"Just say the words."
Knowing this is his way of gaining a sense of control, claiming the situation we have found ourselves in, I slowly say, "Max, make a baby with me."
He grips my jaw, his fingers pressing into my cheeks. His lips meet mine softly, completely contradictory to the firm hold he has on my face. As his tongue touches my lip, I open my mouth and massage his with mine. Kneading. Dancing together in a collective rhythm of need and love and acceptance.
When one of his hands moves down to hook my leg over the back of his thighs, he begins to stroke his body against mine. His lips journey around my face as he releases my jaw. Careful not to lay too much of his weight on my body, he moulds me, manhandling me into position. His erection is pressed, hot and hard, between the lips of my sex. My core clenches in anticipation of being filled so fully at any moment.
He rolls his hips up and down, stroking himself between my wet lips. Groaning at the sensation, his mouth becomes more frenzied. Nipping. Licking.
I drag my fingers lightly up his back while he moves to grip his erection. Holding me stationary with one hand, his fist picks up pace, the brunt of it meeting my sex. I hold my breath, helpless against the pressure of him on top of me, caging me. And when he moves his hand away, nothing separates us.
His hips pump shallowly into me, forcing his huge pulsing erection in, spreading me wide. Letting out long, whimpering moans, I grip his biceps. Brace myself. He pushes in. Pushes further. I thought I would get used to the feel of his girth, the breadth of his hips, the heat of his body, but I haven't.
It's as all-encompassing as it was the first time.
He sinks into me until I'm full of him; a dull ache inside me warns me of his depth. "Don't underestimate my feelings for you, little one." He grunts, thrusting in a possessive way, wanting to claim, to mark. "Nothing could be more dangerous."
He draws back a few inches and pushes in again. I cry out, my core locking around him, clamping down tight.
"Yes," he growls, starting to really move. "So tight, little one. I wouldn't fit if you weren't so fucking wet for me all the time." He buries himself in deep, my lips hugging the root of his erection. He abruptly pulls out only to thrust in again. And again.
"Max." I mewl beneath him, holding on to him as he rocks us. Fills me. Empties me. The power in his legs can be felt against my thighs. His balls slap at the puckering hole of my bum - the sensation so subtle and yet so arousing. Long strong arms caress every inch of my body.
"You're perfect." His lips meet mine and we kiss, our bodies moving in time now, sliding together. Synchronised.
Every thrust seems to connect us deeper, push him further into me until the onslaught of my orgasm begins to gather in a hot ball in my belly.
It explodes.