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“Yes.”

I do it again, changing the angle. Her fingers spread over the back of my head, catching lightly against the finer willow weave.

“Kell.”

I lift my head just enough to look at her.

“You do not have to ask after every single thing.”

“How will I know?”

Her hips rise when I try something else.

That answers the question better than words.

I pay attention to the changes in her breathing, the way her thighs tighten, the small movement of her hips when I find something she wants repeated.

“Kell.”

I glance up.

“Stop conducting research.”

I lift my head enough to see her. Her hair is already spread messily across the mattress, and she is breathing hard.

I lower my mouth again, finding the sensitive place that makes her hips lift toward me. Her body tightens beneath me, then shudders. Her thighs close around my head, and the sound she makes changes, breaking into something sharper and less controlled as she comes against my mouth. The sound enters my structure like an answering vibration. My own resonance stirs beneath it, low and involuntary, and for several seconds I feel her pleasure in the way my body reacts to hearing it.

I want to make her come again. I start to move my mouth over her once more, and Laura catches my head between both hands.

“Kell.”

I lift my face.

“You’re going to ruin my plans for the day.”

“You took the whole day off.” Her hands loosen, and she lets herself fall back against the mattress.

“I hate that you’re right.”

I lower my mouth to her again. The second time takes longer. That only gives me more time to learn the difference between what makes her shift beneath me and what makes her thighs tighten hard enough to hold me there.

After I make her come again, she pulls me up beside her. Her work blouse no longer looks like something she could wear to the hospital. I catch one side of it between my fingers.

“Now I want this off.”

Laura laughs softly. “Finally.”

I take it off slowly, because that was what I wanted in the first place. The rest of our clothes follow.

When I move over her and slide inside, the first stroke is familiar enough that I no longer have to think about how our bodies fit. That leaves me free to notice everything else. The way her body closes around the ridges along my cock. The slick heat of her. The soft brush of moss at my base against her skin every time I move deeper. The change in her breathing when I angle my hips one way instead of another. The way her thighs tighten around me when I find something she likes.

I can tell the difference now between the movements that make her breathe harder and the ones that make her lose the rhythm entirely. I like that difference. I like causing it.

Laura shifts beneath me. “A little more this way.”

I change the angle. The difference is immediate. The pressure around me changes, tighter along one side, and sensation runs through my whole structure powerfully enough that my rhythm falters.

“Yes,” I say.