He pulled her up by the hair.
Both of them upright now — her back against his chest, his arm around her front, his cock still inside her from behind while he held her suspended in the specific, both-off-the-mattress quality of a position where gravity was his and hers was borrowed.
Her head fell back against his shoulder.
He looked at her face from this angle — at the specific, side-profile quality of a girl whose eyes were going in the specific direction that eyes go when the body is receiving something the mind cannot process fast enough to keep up with.
"'—please me,'" he said, against her ear.
She heard it.
The word landed in the specific way that words land when someone is too deep inside you for language to travel at normal speed — slowly, with delay, through several layers of sensation before the meaning assembled.
She thought about the breakthrough.
