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It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You’d come to his quarters to talk, to share tea, to rest your head against his shoulder while the hum of the Express moved around you.
But now you were here, seated in his lap, your dress bunched at your waist, the fitted layers of his uniform unfastened and pushed aside, his belt discarded, the thick length of him buried deep inside you as you held him there, your arms wrapped around his neck, your forehead pressed to his.
Dan Heng’s breath was warm against your cheek, uneven, the slow rise and fall of his chest betraying the tension in his body as he held himself still, every muscle tight beneath your hands.
“Breathe,” you whispered, your lips brushing his jaw.
“I am,” he replied, but his voice was taut, thin with restraint.
Your hips shifted, just slightly, the movement sending a ripple of pleasure through you, making you gasp softly. His hands tightened on your waist, holding you still, his eyes squeezing shut as he exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice catching. “Don’t move.”
“Why?” you asked, your tone soft, teasing, your fingers tracing the line of his collarbone, feeling the way his skin flushed beneath your touch.
His eyes opened, dark teal and sharp, but there was something vulnerable there too, something soft that he only ever showed you.
“Because I—” he started, but the words stuck, his jaw working.
“Because you what?” you pressed, your lips ghosting over his, your hips shifting again, the drag of him inside you making your breath catch, your eyes fluttering shut.
A low, quiet noise slipped from his throat, barely there, but enough to make your heart stutter, heat pulsing low in your belly.
“God, Dan Heng,” you breathed, pulling back to look at him, your eyes meeting his, dark and wrecked, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you.
“Don’t—” he tried again, but you rolled your hips, slow, deliberate, letting him feel the way you clenched around him, the way you pulsed, warm and wet, holding him tight.
A choked sound tore from him, his head tipping back, his hair falling away from his face as his hands trembled on your waist.
“That’s it,” you whispered, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw, forcing him to look at you again, to see the way your eyes darkened, your lips parted around each breath. “Let me hear you.”
His breath came faster, harsher, his chest rising and falling as you rocked your hips again, your walls squeezing him, the slick heat of you driving him to the edge of his control.
“Please,” he whispered, clutching you tighter, his voice rough with need.
“Please what?” you teased, your lips curling into a small smile as you kissed the corner of his mouth, your hips rolling again, pulling another low, wrecked sound from him.
“Please, don’t stop,” he managed, the words ragged, helpless, breaking past the last of his composure.
You kissed him then, slow and deep, your hips moving in a slow rhythm as you held him there, letting him feel every inch of you, letting him lose himself in the warmth, in the sound of your praise, in the way you whispered his name like a promise.
You rocked your hips again, slow, deep, feeling the way he twitched inside you, the way his breath caught as his head tipped back, the softest, roughest moan slipping from his parted lips.
“Dan Heng,” you whispered, your hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension in every line of him, the way his muscles strained as he tried to hold still, to keep from thrusting up into you.
“Don’t,” he breathed, his voice hoarse, his eyes squeezing shut as his hands clutched at your waist. “Don’t move.”
“Why?” you asked softly, leaning forward, your lips brushing his ear. “You feel so good inside me.”
He shuddered, his grip tightening, the air in the room thick, warm, humming with the sound of your breathing, your bodies pressed so close there was nothing else, just the heat, the pulse of your bodies locked together.
“I—can’t,” he tried, his words breaking, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his breath came faster.
“You can,” you murmured, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling gently until he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes dark, glassy, wrecked.
“Let me hear you,” you whispered, rolling your hips again, slow, deliberate, grinding down on him as you squeezed around him, the heat coiling low in your belly.
A choked moan slipped from him, his lips parting as his eyes fluttered, his hands moving to your hips, holding you still for a moment, trying to gather himself.
“You’re so quiet,” you teased softly, your lips brushing his, your breath warm as you rocked your hips again, the drag of him inside you making your own breath stutter. “I want to hear you.”
His eyes squeezed shut, a quiet, desperate sound leaving his throat as his fingers dug into your skin, the restraint in him cracking, just slightly, as you moved again, slow but relentless, taking him deeper each time.
“Say it,” you urged, your voice gentle, your hands cupping his face, forcing him to look at you, to see the way you wanted him like this, undone, honest.
“It feels—” he gasped, his voice low, rough, the sound making your thighs tremble as you clenched around him, your own moan slipping free.
“Feels what?” you asked, your lips ghosting over his, your hips moving again, the friction sharp, perfect, your breath catching as your eyes fluttered.
“So good,” he breathed, the words spilling out in a soft, needy moan as you rocked your hips again, grinding down, letting him feel every inch of you.
“That’s it,” you praised, your voice warm, your lips brushing across his cheek, his jaw, as your hips moved again, the pleasure building in slow, heavy waves.
He moaned again, louder this time, his head tipping back as his hands clutched at your hips, pulling you down harder, his control slipping as you rocked against him.
“Please,” he gasped again, his voice cracking, his breath ragged as he tried to hold himself back, the flush on his skin deepening.
“Please what?” you whispered, your lips brushing his ear, your teeth catching the lobe lightly before you kissed the soft skin beneath it.
“Please—let me—” he choked out, the words breaking as his hips bucked up into you, just once, hard enough to make you gasp, your walls fluttering around him as you clung to his shoulders.
“You want to come?” you asked softly, your own breath shaking as your hips moved in slow, rolling circles, grinding him deeper, harder.
“Yes,” he moaned, the sound raw, honest, desperate, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, dark and pleading. “Please.”
“Then let go,” you whispered, your lips pressing to his as you rocked your hips again, taking him deeper, your body clenching around him as your own pleasure built, sharp and sweet, pulling you closer to the edge with him.
His breath stuttered, a low, raw groan slipping from him as his hips bucked again, his hands pulling you down, holding you there as he spilled inside you, his forehead pressing to yours, your name breaking from his lips like a prayer.
The heat of him, the sound of him, the way his body trembled beneath yours pulled you over with him, your own cry soft, breathless, as you came, your walls fluttering around him, your body shaking as you held him close.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, the warmth of him inside you, the way his hands slid up your back, holding you close, grounding you.
And in that quiet, in the warmth of his arms, you pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his softly as you whispered, “Good.”
His eyes opened, dark and soft, his breath still uneven as he kissed you again, slow, tender, letting you feel the way he was still trembling beneath your touch.
And for now, that was enough.