For this.
For him.
Even if I shouldn’t be.
Even if I promised myself I wouldn’t.
Because the truth is, I’m teetering on the edge.
One more kiss, one more whispered endearment in that wicked accent of his, and I’m not sure I’ll survive the fall.
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe it’s not about surviving.
Maybe it’s about living.
And no, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.
Maybe it’ll bring betrayal.
Maybe heartbreak.
Maybe he’ll walk away with nothing more than a smirk and a diplomatic wave goodbye.
But I do know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t see this through.
If I don’t take this night, this fire, this brutal collision of lust and longing and something that feels dangerously close to fate—and make it mine.
So I decide.
I decide to carpe the fuck out of this diem.
To claim the lost prince with the haunted eyes and the dangerous hands.
To make a memory so seared into my skin I’ll feel it long after he’s gone.
And if I fall for him—if I really fall for Atlas Stavros—that’ll be one more desperate, shameful, beautiful secret I take to my grave.
But maybe it’ll be worth it.
Chapter Fourteen-Atlas
I drive into her hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
Her back arches, hands still pinned above her head, breasts trembling with every ragged gasp she takes.
God, she’s tight.
“So fucking perfect. This pussy was made for me.”
Hot. Wet. Tight.
Such a good girl, clenching around me like her body already knows exactly who it belongs to.
I pull out slow, dragging every thick inch against her slick walls until she whimpers, then I slam into her again—harder.
“Atlas—!”
