In the midst of everything, Derrica has a passing thought: What if we break the bed?

Not that it matters. Not that she could bring herself to stop. Loxley's so very good with his hands, and it is so good to be crushed in tight against him. The press of his fingers makes the sinuous roll of her hips into something clumsier, a hitch in the movement all for the work of his hand on her.

Even in spite of her request, there is some nonsensical urge to hold off. To stay here, in this place, with him. It isn't possible, but still. She tries. And she comes apart anyway. Even without the press of his fingers, the sound Loxley makes under her might have pushed her there anyway. She feels it deep in her belly, that gasp like a hook yanking her forward. She rocks down hard into his lap, making soft, broken off sounds against his mouth.

Her fingers flex in his hair, stopping just short of pulling. The shivers ease at nearly the same rate as her grip on him relaxes. Her nose bumps against Loxley's as she tries to catch her breath, panting there with his arm cinched around her.