This position was a lot different than the last time. Krem was in control, setting the pace and the rhythm, controlling the whole encounter. All Thomas could do was clutch at his thighs, raking his nails down the bruised skin and lift his hips whenever he managed to have a lucid enough thought.

Thomas closed his eyes again, tipped his head back into the pillow and tried to gather up every single morsel of control so he could last, so that this wouldn't end too soon. He exhaled, breath whistling through his suddenly dry lips. He wet them and then bit down on his lip hard enough to sting.