This position… it cuts both ways. He has more control but she can feel every little change in his body, the way he quivers like a taut bowstring about to snap at any moment. Natasha weighs the possibilities, as much as she’s able with his hips crashing down on hers, slap of their bodies obscene in the field. Does she need it?

Her body thrums the answer, insistent on yes, but she’s always been good at compartmentalizing. For a heart stopping moment she’s certain he’s let go of her — and then he slams her wrist back to the ground again and she snarls in his ear in return, turning her head to bite at the lobe and tug. Not hard enough to draw blood but certainly more than enough to get his attention.

“You need this,” she drawls, stuttered in between thrusts of his hips. “You ought to be begging me.”