Fucking hell, her mouth felt incredible. Terrence never interrupted her when she was doing things like this because he didn't like the way it felt, but he just wasn't capable of holding still and letting her get him off. It wasn't about what she was doing, it was about her: he wanted to touch, bite, move, make her feel just as good as she did him.
Which was why, when she moaned, he couldn't stand it anymore. He took the knife from his mouth and threw it at the wall, then grabbed her hair roughly, tugging her up, not even really caring if he got an unpleasant scrape from her teeth because of his urgency. He pulled her up to capture her mouth with his, dragging her lower lip into his mouth, and growled as he rolled them over, pressing her back against the bed. His hips ground against hers once, teasingly, his hands moving roughly, bruisingly, over her skin.
Her boy shorts, as appreciated as they were, were now an obstacle, but he took the opportunity to run his tongue and teeth over the bloody marks he'd made on her chest as his hands tugged them roughly down her body. Then he fit himself inside her, pressing her back against the bed, kissing her like his life depended on it. Which, just then, it did; he wanted her more than his starving lungs wanted oxygen, couldn't have held back from taking what he wanted for even one second longer.