She's as tense as he is, nervous, quivering like a newly plucked string, and the seriousness of the situation lays him low. Maybe she should be nervous. Maybe they both should. There's no telling what's going to happen once they jump from the precipice, and right now they're only dangling, hesitating. He's hesitating, mostly, the rounds of his fingertips digging possessively into her hip as he tries to steady himself.

The plea she breathes over his skin is the breaking point. It's been a long time but he knows what comes next, knows the slide of skin and the way that mutual arousal makes it almost too easy for him to sink into her, slow and deep, a groan stuttering out of his mouth and his fingers tightly gripping her hair when his hips press flush against hers.