He can't stop himself bucking inside her, diving into the wave as she cascades. Then stilled himself again. Losing himself in the feel of her climax. Hoping his own could be put off forever so he could remain like this with her.

His hand left her locus to grasp her face, palm pressed along jaw, holding their foreheads together, like each was the other's oxygen mask, like it could keep them from a fall.

His flesh moves of its own accord, so slightly, inside her. But everywhere else, where consciousness can decide, he's not going to be the one to initiate motion again. He'd wanted to make her come fast. (The fact that they can and do is still remarkable to him.) His can wait for new sentience to rise.