She can hear the sound of her nails scraping down the wood of the door, the sound of his flesh against hers, the way he's breathing. She can feel how his fingertips are digging into her hips. All of it somehow initially louder and more intense than the feel of him fucking into her. Like her brain is focusing on the minor details before it can register the enormity of the main event. Not because she doesn't want it -- she desperately wants it -- but because the sensations are beyond overwhelming.

And then, between one heartbeat and the next, everything snaps into crystal clear focus and she makes a sound that's almost a growl. Pushing back against him, trying to find some way to reach him, to touch him. "I need...I need," she tries to get the words out but she can barely breathe around the pounding of her heart. "Your hands... skin...please."