I spun her, slammed her back against the door, and crushed my mouth to hers. The kiss was brutal—no warm-up, no gentleness—just teeth and tongue and two years of pent-up fury. She kissed me back like she wanted to draw blood, nails raking down my sweat-slick back, leaving fire in their wake.
I shoved a thigh between hers, pinning her, and she rolled against it with a broken moan that went straight to my balls. My hands dropped to her jeans, popping the button, ripping the zipper down. She helped, kicking them off, and then there was nothing but black lace panties already soaked through.
I dropped to my knees.
“Levi—”
I hooked my fingers in the lace and tore. The fabric gave with a sharp rip, and she gasped as cool air hit her. I didn’t give her time to recover—just spread her open with my thumbs and licked one long, filthy stripe from her entrance to her clit.
She cried out, thighs trembling, hands slamming against the door for balance. I did it again, slower, savoring the way she flooded my tongue. She tasted like desperation and mine.
I ate her like a man possessed—sucking her clit, fucking her with my tongue, one finger then two sliding in deep. Every time she got close I backed off, raking the inside of her thigh with my teeth until she snarled my name and yanked my hair so hard my eyes watered.
When I finally let her come, she shuddered—hips bucking, a choked scream ripping out of her as she soaked my chin and my fingers. Glorious.
I stood before the aftershocks finished, shoved my shorts down, and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around my waist, arms around my neck, and I slid into her in one brutal thrust.
We both shouted.
She was scalding, clenching, perfect. I pinned her to the door and fucked her like I was trying to punish her for leaving, for coming back, for still owning every inch of me. She took it—took every punishing stroke—and demanded more, nails carving half-moons into my shoulders, heels digging into my ass, urging me deeper.
“Look at me,” I growled.
Her eyes snapped open—dark, glazed, furious—and locked on mine as I drove into her again and again, the door rattling in its frame with every thrust.
“Tell me you feel this,” I snarled against her mouth. “Tell me you still fucking feel me.”
“I never stopped,” she gasped, voice breaking on the last word.
That was all it took.
I spun us, stumbled to the bed, and flipped her onto her stomach. She went up on her knees without being told, back arched, offering herself. I gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and slammed back in.
The angle was merciless. She buried her face in the pillow and screamed into it as I set a brutal rhythm—skin slapping skin, the bedframe slamming the wall, my name a broken chant muffled by cotton.
One hand snaked around to trace a line from her clit up to her neck, and back again. The other fisted her hair, pulling her head back so I could see her face in the mirror across the room—mouth open, eyes wild, tears of overstimulation streaking her cheeks.
“Come again,” I ordered. “Come on my cock while you watch what we do.”
She did—harder than the first time, body seizing, pussy clamping down so tight I saw stars. I followed her over with a guttural groan, burying myself to the hilt and spilling deep inside her in hot, endless pulses.
We collapsed sideways, still joined, my chest to her back, both of us shaking and gasping like we’d run ten miles with bullets chasing us.
I stayed inside her, arms locked around her waist, face buried in her sweat-damp hair, breathing her in.
Minutes—or hours—later, she finally spoke, voice hoarse.
“Dinner’s definitely on them now.”
I laughed against her neck, the sound ragged and wrecked and perfect.
“Yeah,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to the mark I’d left on her shoulder. “We’re ordering the most expensive fucking thing on the menu.”
11
AMELIA
By the time we made it to the shower, I’d stopped pretending this was casual.
