“Fuck me like it’s the end of the world.” is a challenge I issue to Desmond Miles. “You have no idea…” is all he says and then my fate is sealed.

In his hands, I am bent over, or riding his lap, or mounted up against the wall, clinging to him with need. It is passionate and primal. The only sounds I hear are the heavy moans and pleas for more, and skin slapping on skin. He takes me like he is needy and desperate to try it all.

There is a lull, and we are both sore and he seems sated. But there is a fire that always burns in me when it comes to Desmond.

“This isn’t all I wanted,” I speak low, my voice hoarse with overuse. I climb on top of him and ride him one more time while he lays below me.

—

This time, I take my time and ride him slowly. I bend down so we are face-to-face; so I see nothing but his face, and he sees nothing but mine. In this position, I am full with adoration, my need to be embraced fulfilled. He holds me close and matches my slow pace, caressing my back. Our eyes don’t break contact. Our hands never stop caressing and stroking.

“I don’t want this to end,” are the first words Desmond whispers to me since we started our current round. I can feel his lips move as he speaks, and his breath tickles my own lips.

“It won’t.”

“You promise?” I hear something like desperation in his tone. A need for reassurance. I want to him give him all I have and all I will ever be even in this short time. I never want to let him go.

“I promise.”

After that, there is no space between us. We move together like we’re making love and it’s all we’ve ever known how to do. Even when it ends, I make sure it doesn’t.