The man I've been trying not to want since the moment I laid eyes on him, but also the man who makes me feel alive, dangerous, and utterly seen.
"Second thoughts?" he asks, reading my expression.
"No. Maybe."
He steps back, allowing me space. Yet, his gaze is anything but gentle. It's a raw, unfiltered hunger, a barely contained desire that seems to strip me bare. There's a depth to his look, as if he's searching for something within my soul.
"Last chance to back away," he warns. It's clear he doesn't want to stop.
"I don't want to stop," I reply.
My hands move to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with the expensive fabric as a sudden, urgent need to touch him overwhelms me. He doesn't stop me, just watches as I push the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the muscled planes of his chest and the dark tattoos I've only glimpsed before. My fingers trace the ridges of his muscles, the faint scar near his collarbone, a possessive pull in my touch, a need to mark him as mine, if only for this moment.
As my hands slide down to his belt buckle, he spins us around, pressing me back against the wall. His mouth crashes down on mine with a hunger that steals my breath. His hands are everywhere, in my hair, on my waist, sliding under my shirt to touch my bare skin.
There's nothing gentle about how he touches me, nothing romantic about the way he backs me toward the bed. This is raw, desperate need.
He pulls back enough to look into my eyes, his own dark and blazing with lust.
"You sure about this?" he asks as he lifts my shirt over my head, then quickly unhooks my bra, letting it fall to the floor. My breasts are bare, exposed to his hungry gaze.
"Yes," I reply, my nipples already tightening.
"Because once I touch you, once I have you, I'm going to want you again. And again. And that's going to complicatethings." His fingers trace the curve of my hip, dipping under the elastic of my bikini bottoms, his touch a promise and a threat.
"Everything's already complicated," I reply.
"It's about to get worse," he murmurs, sliding his hand lower, cupping my ass through the thin fabric, pulling me flush against his hard erection. I can feel the heat, the insistent pressure, the tremor in his body matching mine.
"I don't care," I say.
He stares at me, taking in my flushed skin, the way I'm looking at him like he's something I want to devour, something I need. There's a flicker of understanding, of mutual, devastating recognition in his eyes.
"Fuck it," he mutters, and then his control snaps completely.
He pushes me back onto the bed, following me down, his weight heavy and welcome. He covers my body with his, his mouth finding my neck, sucking, biting, leaving a trail of fire. He kisses me again, slower this time, reverent. His fingers curl under the band of my panties and slide them down my legs, never breaking eye contact.
Then he strips off his clothes—black shirt, belt, pants—until he’s naked in front of me. Broad shoulders, ripped torso, scars across his ribs and one low on his hip. And God, he’s big. My eyes widen a little, and he smiles, but it’s not cocky. It’s protective. Tender.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises.
He lowers himself over me, weight balanced on his elbows, one hand tangled in my hair as the other strokes between my thighs.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs. “You’ve been ready.”
He finds my clit and circles it softly, making me squirm and moan. My legs fall open without thinking. He kisses my temple, my cheek, my mouth again. Then shifts lower, trailing kisses down my chest, my stomach, until he’s between my thighs.
And then his tongue is on me. I cry out, and he groans in approval, licking slow and deep, holding my hips down when I try to buck against his mouth. I can’t think. The pleasure builds fast, sharp, relentless—
I come with a broken sob, thighs trembling around his shoulders. He kisses back up my body like a man starved.
“Now,” I whisper. “Please. I want to feel you.”
He settles between my legs. His tip nudges at my entrance. He strokes my face, my hair..
He pushes in slowly, stretching me, filling me. I gasp and dig my nails into his back.
“Easy, baby,” he murmurs.
