It’s past midnight and raining hard outside the window when he says he doesn’t know how she likes him so much, how she can be as crazy for him as he is for her. So she tells him - or she starts to tell him anyway - all the parts that can come out as words, because there’s more of course, there’s so much more inside her but it's all emotion and feeling and too much to ever translate into crude, indelicate words.

But she does the best she can. The moment is soft and precious and her whisper is barely discernible against the insistent patter of the rain as she begins by telling him how she loves his eyes, the colour of them, the way they look when he laughs and moreso when he's turned on. She tells him she loves his laugh and the familiar sound of his voice and the way he groans every time she touches him and the way his body fits into hers, “like a plug and a socket” she tells him and he's laughing even as she’s trying to tell him how she loves his hands and the things they do to her. How the way he frowns makes her want to hug him forever. That touches him enough to stop his laughter and he holds her closer and she tells him how much she loves how he holds her, how it makes her feel safe and warm and protected and how possessiveness becomes something beautiful with him. She tells him how easy it is to trust someone who truly loves her, and how she could push her face into his neck and stay there forever because he's just so achingly safe.

The rain is coming down harder and she tells him she loves how he loves the rain, but none of what she's saying really matters at all she says, because the foundation of it all is that she loves the way he makes her feel, the golden glow that every endearment ignites inside her, the bewildered joy she always feels when he looks at her like she's something impossible, like a beautiful illusion he can't let go of. She loves how he makes her know she's loved, how he kisses her - from the briefest graze of his mouth to the aggression of his tongue - every kiss feels like a gift, and he kisses her even as she’s trying to tell him all this, he takes her mouth and robs her of the unfinished sentence as his hand skims beneath her t-shirt.

It hasn’t been long since he was inside her last but she can feel the way his body shifts, the way everything seems to stir and relight and she pulls her mouth from his so she can tell him how she loves the way he wants her, the way it makes her feel accomplished, the insane joy of mutual lust and he groans in agreement as his hand goes higher, warm fingers against warm skin, and his leg is between hers and she’s trying to tell him they fit, they fit, they just fit, his entire soul fits hers like no-one else’s ever could.

But he's kissing her again, his mouth hungry and irresistible and so she relents and kisses him back because most of the time her body speaks to his with more cohesion than clumsy words ever could, tongues communicating without vocal obstacles. And he's all hers, his tongue touching hers, deep and possessive as his hand moves down between her legs, pushing them further apart before he strokes her, so deft and knowing that she shivers beneath him and it's this part of him she loves helplessly, this part where he's everything without even trying, this part, where he knows exactly what to do, this part, where his fingers slapping against her pussy feel so good she could just about die but all she can do is moan into his hungry mouth and so he does it again, smacking his hand against her wet flesh as his knee urges her legs wider so she's exposed, entirely his, unable to hide from what he wants.

He doesn't let up until the throb centred in the wet heat between her legs has her entire body pulsing and even then he makes her feel beautiful, like anything so desperate could ever be beautiful but he makes her believe it, the obscene sugar he pours into her ear makes everything glow like they’ve gone someplace nobody else could ever know or understand because this is them, this is the way they fit, the way everything they are and know culminates into things unthinkable with anyone else, because neither of them ever wants anyone else, it's them, just them, they belong to each other and he tells it to her, tells her she's his like she could ever need reminding as he pushes his hard cock into her, stretching and filling her like she was made to fit him. And maybe she was - because everything feels like fate as he pushes deep and her legs go around him, her mouth searching for his as his hands grasp at her shirt, pulling it up so he can grope her breasts, his touch heated and aggressive against her soft flesh and every lunging surge up inside her is a question she can only answer by pushing back, by taking everything he gives so he knows how divinely they equate, how impeccably they attract and fit.

She loves the way he takes her, so completely and entirely it makes her body clench with every aching thrust and she can't speak anymore, can only gasp and moan his name like it's the only word she's ever known and it feels that way, with him inside her and surrounding her, he's all she can think of, it's him, it's all him, and he’s everything she's ever wanted, he's pure, drowning, unspeakable perfection.