It happens remarkably quickly — the silence after her single plea, hanging in the air for a single moment — and then he’s ramming her, fingers toying with her clit and she’s lost. Similar to the first time, her vision blanks for a moment, body locking in an arch that makes her back scream as she shudders into his thrust until he bottoms out. Her muscles tighten around his cock, fluttering, and it makes the drag when he pulls out all the more sensitive.

She is, after so many years of hurried encounters in less than appropriate places, mostly silent. A gasp here, a strangled moan into his hair there. Natasha knows her grip on his back is too much to be comfortable and all she can manage to think is good.

Because he doesn’t stop there. He continues fucking into her at the same relentless pace he’d been holding back all along, each drive of his hips also shifting his fingers to rub her again and again. Oversensitive from coming, she’s pinioned by the length of his body pressing her to the ground — no escape, no way to move.

Thank you, he husks.

Is it any wonder that the aftershock is an earthquake in its own right? A second orgasm sneaking up so quickly on the first that she can’t be silent, she whines something incoherent in his ear again, body tightening around him.