The first time.
The front door is unlocked. Of course it is. She had given him little but enough warning, and there were just times when she didn't fucking feel like knocking; it was her home. So she strides inside, walks through the cobweb of memories haunting the frame, the memory of how she had turned, walked out, but not shut the damn door. She pushes on through it with determination, with heat.
He's in his office. He when looks up, alerted by the staccato of her heels against the floor, he offers her that all-compassing smile, the one that's goofy and leering and just happy all at once somehow. It finds its target in her vulnerable heart instantly, just like always, but she keeps moving for him, a tigress with her prey in plain sight, his neck totally exposed to her.
Her attack is more intense than even she had anticipated, but damn if she isn't already sinking straight into it, plunging into his mouth with a hunger that makes it clear that this is not a "lunch meeting" where she'll only be having one helping.
She'll never get tired of that groan, how it starts as one of surprise but smooths out, gaining depth and texture as he gives himself over fully to their mutual lust. His fingers – the ones that have typed out their story, that have cracked against the jaw of a hitman, that have held hers time and time again with the implicit promise of togetherness – dig into the hair at her nape with a pressure and possessiveness that makes her vibrate like a plucked string. His other hand, meanwhile, is groping at the hem of her dress, determined and graceless all at once, to a staggeringly arousing effect. But there's a fierceness in her that combats, that battles for dominance precisely because she wants him to wrench it back from her.
"No," she snarls, smacking his hand away at the wrist. She smirks against his mouth when she feels him reel like a teenage boy being denied a pass at the head cheerleader. "No time. No naked. Just fuck me."
He sinks his teeth into bottom lip with a growl, making her respond with an obscene sound of her own. Without a word of either protest or consent, he wraps his hands at her elbows and deepens their kiss only to tighten his grip and spin her around, leaving her swollen and puckering and sucking in air. He crowds into her from behind, not employing real forcefulness, but his legs trapping and putting pressure on the backs of her already weakened knees means that she is bent over the bed in no time, her spine arching, her every nerve igniting with sweet anticipation.
The bottom of her black sweater dress is bunched around her waist quickly but with all the precision of man who relishes his ability to see, to touch, to reveal to his exact specifications. He runs a hand down one cheek and she shivers, the effect rippling out even farther when she hears the give of his zipper and feel the caressing fingers latch onto her hip. How perfectly they fit like this, in these ways through which they can express their need for one another, when their opposing magnetic centers crash together.
He doesn't bother with teasing, but damn does he go slow, like he's fueling an ache, pressing on a tender bruise, drawing it out while giving in. She knows how much he must love her wetness – it's not just a feeling but a sound, their coupling one that demands the attention of every single sense – and she can practically feel the way his breath bottoms out in her own chest.
"So hard," she mutters, pressing her forehead to the mattress as he fills her to the hilt. Stealing his moment, his usual time for commentary on how she is fucking soaked, Jesus, Kate.
He moves, a pistol-fast withdrawal before bearing down slowly but with demand. "How could I not be?" he bites into the back of her neck. She feels the pull of a few strands of hair getting caught between his snapping teeth. "Those texts, Kate. Those damn texts." He moans, a highly stimulated ahhh escaping as he starts to move her from her hips along his dick. He's picking up speed; that means he's being mentally excited as well as physically.
"You liked that?"
"Liked that? Fuck, Kate, I don't think I'll ever be able to wake up any other way without you again." He's pounding into her now, completely in control, driving her against him, in contrast with the way his lips nuzzle into the fabric covering her spine. "I got so fucking hard the second I saw that picture and imagined you drawing the blinds in your office, relaxing into your chair, getting your camera ready, spreading your legs…"
Whether consciously or not, his knees are encouraging hers to go wider, and then the full weight of her upper body is being pressed into the bed by his. He's got leverage now, kneeling on the edge of the mattress, and she's just reaching up for purchase, clawing at the opposite end, stretching herself as if to be able to take even more of him into her. It's pure, carnal bliss. She knew sending those pictures with nothing but the words "Get ready for your lunch" was a good idea.
He's chanting her name now, fumbling to draw her hair away from her neck so that he can nudge his nose against her turtleneck. He inhales her scent like an addict as his hips reach a feverish gallop against her, bucking, barely restrained.
"Casssttttle…."
His hand swoops in and slightly lifts her lower belly before his thumb snakes down and finds her needy and engorged. The confidence with which he sends her towards a spiral is only rivaled by how amazing it is for her when he spirals out himself. He cries out with no care for volume or thought to temper his desperate pitch. Her name is the sexiest whine as he draws it out of his throat, his hips frenzied, his thumb unrelenting. His body spasms around her, and it makes her feel so safe and loved, to know he willingly made her his own safe space, his place of release, when his heart is truly such a guarded, precious thing.
A thing she crushed under the ball of her foot as she pivoted and walked out.
Her orgasm is a tidal wave, that endless tightening before contracting, that pulsing release, and she screams out how good he fucks her as it takes her.
A/N: Title is taken from "Latch" by Disclosure. Characters are well loved by me but are not mine.