He pressed his free hand flat against the soft, warm skin of her lower back.
And pushed down.
The displacement.
The soft belly of her pressing against the mattress, the fullness of him inside the passage above it creating a pressure that translated — the stuffed, overwhelming fullness of a body that was being asked to accommodate something in a space it had never been filled before.
She made a sound that was not in any language.
"MMMMNNGH~—"
"A function," he continued, his voice level, his fingers finding the swollen, wet bud of her clit and pressing, "is something that produces a result. The result women respond to is not cruelty. It is certainty."
"AAANGHH~!! HNGH~!! RAVEN — THE FRONT — AND THE — BOTH AT ONCE — I CAN'T—"
"A man who doesn't flinch," he said, "tells a woman's body something it has been waiting to be told."
Seven centimeters.
"IAAAANGHH~!! IT'S TOO DEEP — STOP — I'M FULL — I'M SO FULL — RAVEN—"
He twisted her nipple.
"AAAHH~!!"
