"Don't talk to me," she breathes, voice deep and rough where she presses her lips against his temple, feeling her whole body freeze with the effort not to make a single misstep, "about wanting someone forever." Evenings spent alone quickly come to mind, the brush of fingers over the flat of her stomach, a movement that she repeats now, before letting her fingertips skim over to his skin, down the line of his spine, pressing against his ass. She hikes a leg, resting it against his hip and wrapping it around his waist, leaving him without a choice. His voice thrums against her skin, deeper than she expected. For everything that he was capable of earlier, all the direction her took, there's something vulnerable about this, right now.

Not in the frailty of a choice, so much as a fear of the future that she catches in his eyes, clouded. And it makes her feel safe.

Her mind doesn't linger tonight on what that means.

"Don't make promises," she continues, voice hitching. "Just make me scream."