She started slow.
Her hips rolled forward and back in small deliberate circles, her hands pressing down on his shoulders, her weight balanced above him.
Her movement were measured and intentional, the kind that built something rather than rushed toward it, each small circle of her hips carrying more weight than the last.
He put both hands on her waist and felt every motion of it, the shift of her weight forward and the pull of it back, the give of her skin under his fingers, her body finding what worked and settling there.
Her boobs moved with each roll of her hips, swaying gently in the warm light of the apartment, the skin of them flushed a soft pink from the warmth building between them.
Her brown eyes were half closed, their amber quality visible even now, her lips slightly parted, her expression carrying the specific look of someone who had stopped managing anything.
He watched her face.
