She wouldn't let him stay on the floor.

Before her breathing had even steadied, Lena's hands were on his shoulders. Pulling him up. Dragging him into her.

-Come here, she whispered. Inside. Now.

Stanley moved up the bed. He hovered over her, bracing his weight on his forearms.

The room was heavy.

He positioned himself between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist instantly, locking her ankles. A vise grip. No letting go.

He pushed into her.

It was slow. Deliberate. Straining.

Lena threw her head back, her nails digging into his biceps. She made a sound deep in her throat, guttural and real. She was tight, hot, claiming him as much as he was claiming her.

He began to move, slowly but firmly.

Stanley watched her face in the shadows. He expected her to close her eyes, to drift away into the sensation.

Instead she opened them, staring right at him. Her eyes were wide, dark pools reflecting the scant light from the window. She was watching him take her. She was watching herself lose control.

-Look at me, she commanded, her voice ragged.

-I'm looking, Stanley gritted out as he thrust.

He drove deeper, hitting a rhythm that snapped the last tether of restraint. The bed frame rattled against the wall. The sheets tangled around them.

They moved together, trying to outrun their loneliness.

Lena's breath came in jagged gasps. She lifted her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust.

-Stanley, she cried out.

He felt the edge approaching. The tension coiling tight inside him.

-I've got you, he said.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, and let go as he hilt himself.

He poured into her.

Lena convulsed around him, her body milking the last drops of his resolve. She clung to him, her fingernails biting into his skin, pulling him down.

They collapsed together. Chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. The only sound in the room was the harsh noise of their breathing, slowing down in the dark.