"Touch me. God, please. I can't…"
"You're sure about this, M'chelle?" One clever hand came up to caress her breast, and she whimpered and sank back against him as his other hand found the space between her thighs. "Because I can't stop, darlin'. Know that now. I've wanted you too long."
"Take me," she gasped, and felt the first shocks of orgasm despite them both being still fully clothed. "I'm done fighting this. I can't - Michael, oh God - "
"Let go," he murmured, and she cried out as his fingers caressed damp fabric. "Just let go for me, darlin'. I've got you."
The orgasm takes her completely by surprise, a startling ripple of a thing that echoes through pelvis and abdomen, but it's not quite enough, not quite the long fall, and even as the last shocks fade she's already climbing higher, already aching for more.
The sudden twist of his fingers on her breast has her crying out again, knees buckling abruptly; his thigh comes between her legs just in time to catch her and she rocks against him, needing the pressure, needing the safety of being supported completely.
He doesn't disappoint; Michelle Henke doesn't have her best friend's centimeters, and he is more than tall enough to prop his rear on the edge of the table and have her feet not even brushing the floor. She sags into the support, hardly even able to hold her head up with the pleasure rolling through her, and the slight roll of his hips as he pleasures her has his erection pressing into the curve of her arse, and if only those bloody skirts and trousers weren't in the way, if only…
He must be a mind reader, he has to be, because he inches her Grayson-style skirt up her thighs, reaches one hand between them to unseal his trousers, and she presses back against him, begging shamelessly. Totally vulnerable and unable to be scared of it, she gently bites the fleshy pad of his thumb where his hand has framed her face and hears him hiss out a breath.
"Darlin'," he murmurs, the slow drawl bringing on another hot rush of arousal, "you'd best be careful, or I won't last long enough to -"
She doesn't listen to the rest, is too busy tugging her skirts up and out of the way. The fabric drags against her aching clit as she pulls it free from the press of his thigh and her core, and she whines, low and needy.
"Darlin'," he gasps, and bucks hard against her.
"Now," she demands, finding the snap command of a flag officer even in this moment. "Michael, now."
He takes her with no more ceremony than that, and she has never been more grateful for soundproof walls as she lets out a high, keening scream. The angle is too shallow, really, but it doesn't matter - he's inside her, hot and hard and glorious, and she clamps tight around him just to feel the groan rumble through his chest.
"I need to look at you," she gasps at last, and it is torture to feel him pull out of her but then her arms are around his neck and he's lifting her and she takes him inside again (thank God) and buries her face in his shoulder and starts to shake.
Gently he strokes the curve of her arse, slides his fingers down to her cleft, touches her gently right where he enters her, and she murmurs a little, can't quite gasp - and then, tentatively, his forefinger just brushes the tight pucker of her anus.
She gasps this time, really gasps, and feels him trembling too as her reaction hits him. "M'chelle," he whispers in wonder, "do you - do you think you would - someday?"
She is too far gone to speak but she manages to nod, just a little, and his breath gusts out of him as he presses just a little harder. Before she can think she is rocking into the touch; he doesn't breach her, not yet, but she can feel the oh-so-closeness of it and she wants to cry, wants him to go just that little bit further, but it's too new and too raw and she has never been more grateful for the way he can read her like a tactical plot because he just keeps circling, just keeps pressing lightly, and the gentle tease is building her higher and higher, pushing her toward something.
It's never felt like this, she realises, and this time she does cry, just a little. Because she has had plenty of sex and enjoyed almost all of it, with people she genuinely liked and was genuinely attracted to - but she is finding in Michael Oversteegen's arms that never in her life has she truly made love, and the prospect is more terrifying than anything that has ever happened to her.
He rubs gently, still teasing, his hips rolling in long slow waves, sliding thick and hot inside her, and he pushes again, carefully avoiding the opening, massaging the skin around it as she whines, feels the first hot trickle of climax shiver down her spine.
"M'chelle," he murmurs raggedly. "God, darlin', I never dreamed - "
Somewhere in the middle of all this she manages to huff out a laugh, her shoulders shaking. "Me either," she mumbles into his shoulder. "Michael, I - "
He can't reach her chin, both his hands are busy, but he pulls away from her a little and she gets the point, lifts her eyes to look at him, to meet his with hers.
What she sees there staggers her.
He looks like she feels - like he's finding something else entirely, another plane of existence almost. Everything she is feeling for him is reflected back at her in his eyes, and that's enough.
It's more than enough.
She comes apart, shaking like a leaf, but she can't close her eyes now, and when he follows her she sees it all there in glowing eyes and she thinks for a moment, as she shivers in his arms in the aftermath, that this must be something like seeing heaven.