Misato wanted the version of me that didn't hold back, and nine weeks of her drills had taught me that ignoring a direct order ended in laps nobody survived.
I pulled out until only the tip stayed inside her, set both palms on the mattress beside her ribs, and drove back in hard enough to shove the whole twin bed an inch across the floor. Her mouth fell open around a sound that never made it out. Her heels locked against the backs of my thighs, and her nails found the scratches Addison had left on my shoulders and tore them open for a second round.
Euphoric Feedback grabbed the sting and turned it into a hot line straight down my spine, so I did it again.
The headboard cracked against the concrete. A framed training certificate rattled on its nail above us, and Misato's head tipped back into her flat little pillow while her throat fought a moan she'd been swallowing for nine years.
"Do that again, Monroe, and do it harder this time."
