He slides his fingers in, not the vengeful surge of their former trysts but something smooth, purposeful, nearly guided by a supernatural calm. He does it as he kisses her again, presses into her, and he feels her mouth on his and his fingers, wet now and alive inside her, climbing his way up her slick terrain.

He wants to set her alight with the pleasure no other man could give her. He wants to obliterate every memory she has of any man that came before him, to annihilate a future where he doesn't exist as her only partner. He deepens the kiss, pulls her into his mouth for a moment, and then (hunched in the back of the car, cramped and not caring) separates from her and lowers his head. His hand emerges to push back her dress and he breathes in the damp smell of her.