He wants to look at her

“I want to look at you,” Adam says against her ear, still deep, still moving. “When I finish. I want your face. Not the back of your head. You.”

Lana nods into the mattress. He pulls out. The loss makes her whimper, empty and aching. She turns onto her back without being told, hair spread on the pillow, eyes already bright, and opens her legs for him. He comes over her. Settles between them. One hand guides him. He pushes back in, slow, inch by inch, until he is all the way home and they can both feel the fit of it.

Missionary. Face to face. His forehead near hers. Her legs wrapped around him. He starts to move, passionate, deep, not rough. Long strokes that let her feel every bit of him. A kiss. Then another. She holds his face in both hands so he cannot look away even if he wanted to. He holds her like the two nights might run out faster if he loosens his arms.

“There,” she whispers. “I can see you. Don’t look away. I want this one clear.”

“I won’t,” he says. “I’ve got you. Look at me.”

He fucks her that way. Steady. Close. The kind of sex that is all breath and eye contact and the small sounds she makes when he grinds deep. She lifts to meet him. Her heels press his back. He tells her she feels perfect. She tells him not to rush the end. They kiss through a dozen strokes. His hand finds hers and pins it gently to the pillow, fingers laced, not a restraint, a hold.

The tenderness grows an edge. His rhythm shortens. She feels it and tightens her legs around him on purpose. A few harder strokes. Her name in his mouth. Her cunt beginning to flutter.

“I’m close,” he says. “Stay with me.”

“I’m here. I want to see it. I want to feel it.”

He cums with his eyes open. A groan. Deep pulses, flooding her, hips pressed tight, face bare above hers. The feeling of him finishing pulls her over again. She cums with him, clinging, a soft cry, her cunt milking the load he is still giving her, tears already threatening and not yet falling.

They stay locked. Breathing. Looking. He does not collapse away. He kisses her, slow, tasting the moment, staying inside until the last twitch fades.

When it ends, he eases out, careful. Kisses her once more. Rolls onto his back. She follows the motion and settles beside him, then lower.

She cleans him with her mouth. Tender. She licks the mess of them from his cock, slow, taking the head gently, swallowing what is left, kissing the tip only when he is warm and clean. Her hand rests on his thigh the whole time. When she is done she kisses his hip, then his stomach, and comes up into his arms.

He sees the tears then. Not sobs. Just shining at the corners, one already on its way down.

He wipes them with his thumb. Pulls her closer, tucks her head under his chin. “Hey. I’ve got you.”

“I know,” she says, voice small. “That’s why it was really good.”

He does not make a speech. He holds her. Hand in her hair. Heart steady under her ear. She fits against him and lets the crying be small and finished, a minute of it, no more. He kisses her forehead. She kisses his chest. His other arm stays around her back like the morning is far away.

They fall asleep that way. Tangled. His cum still in her. The night, for these hours, kind.