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“Later,” he says.

I’m breathing too hard to manage more than, “What?”

“I want to see you do that when I can watch closer.”

The image hits so fast my fingers stutter.

Locke notices.

“Rachel?”

“That was me picturing exactly what you just said.”

Then he thrusts into me hard enough to make me cry out.

I find my rhythm again, circling my clit while Locke moves me over him. Soon everything blurs together: his body filling mine, my fingers working exactly where I need them, his arms supporting me, the deep vibration moving through him every time I tighten around him.

“Locke.”

This time his name comes out broken.

His rhythm doesn’t falter.

Good. I can feel how close I am.

I press harder against my clit as pleasure winds tighter. My forehead drops to his shoulder. Every stroke pushes me closer until there’s nothing left in the room except his body, my hand, and the pressure building between them.

Then Locke changes the angle and drives into me exactly where I need him.

Everything breaks.

My body clamps around him so hard that a cry tears out of me. My fingers lose their rhythm almost immediately, but it doesn’t matter anymore. The orgasm rolls through me in hard waves while Locke holds me against him, giving me just enough movement to stretch each pulse into the next.

My thighs lock around his waist. I cry his name against his shoulder. The vibration inside him deepens.

Locke’s rhythm changes, not from uncertainty but because he’s losing control.

I lift my head to see his face, stripped of everything except pleasure. His hands keep me secure, but the rest of him is giving way, the deep rhythm in his chest pounding harder against mine.

I recognize what’s happening, and I tighten deliberately around him.

Locke’s eyes close.

“Mmm, you liked that,” I murmur against his ear, then catch his earlobe lightly between my teeth.

I tighten around him again.

His entire body shudders.

The beat at his center strikes hard enough that I feel it through every place we’re touching. His cock pulses inside me, followed by a deep rolling vibration that sends an aftershock through my still-sensitive body.

I kiss him as the sound rises out of him. It isn’t quite a moan. It isn’t quite anything human. It moves through his chest and arms, vibrating through the whole woven structure of him.

Locke is coming apart in my arms.

I hold on while the last shudders move through him. There’s no wet rush inside me, no familiar aftermath, only the pulsing of his body and the gradual easing of the strength locked through his arms.

Eventually he rests his forehead against my shoulder. Neither of us speaks for a while. I’m still wrapped around him, still trying to remember what my legs are for, when Locke finally says, “That was different.”