It was a good thing Andy kept her nails short, otherwise the amount of scratching she was doing to try and gain any purchase was going to hurt, even with their healing. He wasn't letting up and kept shoving into her, and Andy only encouraged him with her breathless whispered words, skipping languages like stations on a malfunctioning radio. She loved it, loved the way he kissed and rubbed his hands over her: her nipples peaked and pressed jewel-hard against his palms as her breath caught in her throat with a sound not entirely unlike a whimper.

Andy wasn't going to last very long like this, not when he was rutting into her and sliding against her so delightfully. It wasn't making love, not the way they had before, but the ferocity made up for it. This was a fast, hot burn, and Andy welcomed it--and Booker--with a harder bite and a rough, voice-cracking moan.