Her apartment is dark. They stumble over shoes and back into her furniture. He trusts her to guide them because his mouth is fused on to hers. It's been weeks since they first kissed. It's been weeks since the first time they fell into bed. They saw no point in waiting. They had already waited eight years.

Now they were learning each other's rhythms. They were learning the spots that got the reactions. He knows, now, that if bites her lower lip, she makes that sound. That sound. She knows, now, that if she kisses, nibbles, or blows on the spot where jaw, skull, and neck converge, his left knee buckles slightly.

They grope their way into the bedroom and somehow manage to find her bed. She sighs contentedly. She is sure that she will never grow tired of this. A hundred years from now, she believes the room will give off echoes of her happiness.

She spent her early years battling addiction. Fighting back the demons that demanded she complete the cycle of abuse. This is one addiction she does not intend to overcome. He is her pusher, doling out kisses like drugs, keeping her trapped and wanting.

Desire pools in her stomach. It slides along her legs. His hands glide down her sides and she pulls his mouth to hers. Her ankle hooks around his thigh, heel pressing harder, urging him forward.

He doesn't need the urging. He doesn't need to be told. Her breath whispers across his skin and he can hear little words between the pants and feather light kisses. Her nails bite a little harder into him and then ease until her hands are no more than ghostly sensations against his back.

Who could have known, he wondered, that this is what would be waiting for him when he stopped fighting against it? He knows he's lucky. But, like the saying goes, it's better to be lucky than good sometimes. Now, she tries not to doubt his actions anymore, and he tries not to give her reason to.

He eases into her and she gasps a little. A sign that she is closer than he thought and he increases his speed. Their bodies slide together and pick up a rhythm that's getting a little easier everyday. Her ribs convulse in a shaky sigh as she nears her release. And he can feel himself getting closer. He waits until she gasps and then lets go. It amazes him how simple it is sometimes. He can say the words now. He breathes them into her ear late into the night and she smiles. She no longer needs them, she believes them down to her toes, but they're still nice to hear.