He stilled once he was fully seated within her. His forehead dropped to hers.
"Meng Yan," he said.
Just her name. Nothing more.
'He said my name.' The thought moved through her like a tremor.
'He said my name, why does it feel like that, why does something as simple as my own name from his lips feel like—'
"Breathe," he murmured.
She hadn't realised she'd been holding it.
The breath left her in a shudder. Her body adjusted around him, and the sensation that followed dragged a sound from her lips she had absolutely no authority over.
"Ahh—"
Then he began to move.
Slow at first. Each withdrawal and return was deliberate, unhurried, as though he had infinite time and intended to use every second of it.
Schlick. Schlick. Schlick.
She felt every increment. Her nails found his back. He didn't flinch, if anything, his rhythm steadied further, as though her reaction was simply information to be noted and applied.
"Ah....ahh—"
