Pressing up against him, heart in her throat, Meredith just wants him close. It's not like he can get any closer and some of the desperation's gone out of her, but in moments like these, her fingers curled in his hair, tongues and limbs tangled together, all she wants is what she has. She's still not used to that, but it's hard to be thrown by it when it feels like it's supposed to be this way. If it's torturous — the way he moves inside her, drawing it out, how badly she wants more — it's somehow peaceful, too. Nothing seems to matter but the way this feels, the taste of him, the slide of his hips as she sighs into his mouth.