She used to roll her eyes about it, half-joking, half-resentful. He would laugh it off, make a quiet apology, then pull her close as if to make up for what he thought he’d failed to give. But what she never realized — and what he never said — was that his haste wasn’t about impatience. It was about intensity.
He wanted her too much. Too immediately. Too deeply. It wasn’t about skill or stamina; it was about emotion. About how his body reacted before his mind could even keep up. Desire, for him, wasn’t a slow-burning thing. It was a wave — sudden, unstoppable, overwhelming.
He’d tell himself to slow down, to take his time, to breathe. But every time she touched him, or looked at him a certain way, his control would slip through his fingers. It wasn’t embarrassment — not entirely. It was frustration, because he wanted to make it last, to stay in that fragile, trembling space where everything feels possible and nothing has broken yet.
What she didn’t see was how deeply she affected him. How much he tried to prepare himself before every encounter — mentally, emotionally, almost like a ritual of restraint. But when the moment came, all that careful control melted into the honesty of his reaction.
He carried a quiet shame about it, the kind that doesn’t show in words but lingers in silence. And yet, beneath that shame was something purer — an unfiltered truth of how she moved him.
One evening, when she teasingly asked, “Why can’t you ever slow down?” he hesitated, then said softly, “Because with you, I forget how.”
There was no defense in his voice, only honesty. She looked at him then, really looked — at the tension in his shoulders, the sincerity in his eyes — and something inside her shifted. She realized it wasn’t about inadequacy. It was about vulnerability.
Desire is rarely neat or timed. Sometimes it rushes forward because it’s too full to wait. And sometimes, that urgency is its own kind of confession — the body saying what the heart’s too clumsy to express.
After that night, she stopped teasing. Instead, she began to understand that his quickness wasn’t failure — it was feeling. It was what happened when someone stopped pretending to be in control and simply felt everything at once.
And in that imperfection, she found something unexpectedly beautiful: the proof that she could move someone so deeply, he couldn’t help but lose himself.