Iris

“If I could,” he went on, “I would remain like this indefinitely—clasped by you, held inside you, a part of you—without moving at all. When we make love, I fight climax with everything I have. I don’t want to come; I do not want it to end. No matter how long I make it last, it isn’t nearly long enough. I am furious when I cannot hold back any longer. Why, Jess? If all I seek is the physical relief of natural lust, just as I would seek sleep or food, why would I deny myself?”

She turned her head and caught his mouth with hers, kissing him desperately.

“Tell me you understand,” he demanded, his lips moving beneath hers. “Tell me you feel it, too.”

“I feel you,” she breathed, as intoxicated by his ardency as she was by the finest claret. “You have become everything to me.”
― Sylvia Day, Seven Years to Sin