He slams the door shut behind you, breathing hard — eyes wild, hands clenching at his sides like he’s trying to stop himself.
“We shouldn’t,” he mutters, voice raw. “God, I shouldn’t…”
You just stand there — watching him — feeling the same pull that wrecks you both.
Without thinking, he crosses the room in three strides, fists tangling in your shirt, mouth crashing onto yours with a desperate, broken sound.
The kiss is rough — brutal — his hands everywhere at once: gripping your waist, dragging you closer, yanking your shirt over your head in one frantic motion.
“Fuck,” he curses against your skin. “I’m such a piece of shit.”
You grab his jaw — force him to look at you — and he hesitates, chest heaving, guilt flickering so raw across his face it nearly cracks you open.
“Tell me to stop,” you whisper — voice shaking, torn.
He stay silent
You kiss him harder.
And that’s all it takes — the last thread of control snapping.
⸻
He pushes you down onto the bed pulls your jeans off with a roughness that makes your breath hitch slides his hands up your thighs, trembling.
When he finally sinks into you, it’s not gentle. It’s deep, hard, punishing — like he’s trying to erase every thought but this.
You cry out — head falling back — nails raking down his back.
“You feel too good,” he groans, voice wrecked. “I hate myself for this — but I can’t fucking stop.”
Every thrust is messy — desperate his forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping, bodies slamming together like you’re trying to shatter each other.
You dig your fingers into his hair — pulling, grounding him — and he kisses you like he’s drowning.
When you clench around him — gasping his name like a broken prayer! He breaks too, hips jerking, burying himself as deep as he can while he comes with a raw, shuddering groan.
⸻
After.
He collapses beside you, panting hard, hiding his face against your shoulder like he can’t even bear to look at you or at himself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You close your eyes feel his hand slip into yours, weakly, hopelessly.
And even though the guilt sits heavy between you —neither of you lets go.