I can't finish the sentence. I don’t have the words for it, not really.
"Like what?" His voice has gone rough, dangerous. His green eyes look darker now. I was cold a moment ago, but now all I can feel is the heat radiating off of him, like a furnace surrounding me.
My heart pounds. "Like you want to devour me," I whisper.
Sean goes very still. His jaw tightens, and I see his hands curl into fists at his sides.
"I do," he grinds out between his teeth. "I do want to devour you. I want to take you apart and put you back together and make you mine in every way that matters. And thatcannotfucking happen."
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. "Why?" I whisper, before I can stop myself.
The muscle in Sean’s jaw twitches. “Because you’re twenty years younger than me. You’re innocent and sweet, and you’ve been through hell. You deserve better than what I am. Because once I start touching you, I won't be able to stop."
He's close enough now that he’s almost brushing against me. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
“What if you did… and I didn’t want you to stop?” The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them, the question that’s been rattling in my head for days and days now, curiosity building with each tense moment we spend together.
Sean's control visibly fractures. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. The touch is gentle, but there's violence lurking beneath it.
"Maeve," he says, my name rough on his tongue. "You shouldn’t say things like that to me.”
“Why not?” I whisper, an ache spreading through me that confuses and terrifies me all at once. “I’m your wife.”
Sean makes a sound low in his throat—something between a groan and a curse. And then his mouth is on mine, hard and demanding.
The kiss is nothing like I imagined a first kiss would be. It's not gentle or tentative. It's intense, possessive, all-consuming. His lips move against mine with practiced skill while I freeze, overwhelmed and unsure what to do. I’ve never been kissedbefore, and while I’ve imagined it, it’s so much different than what I thought.
He pulls back slightly. "Kiss me back," he orders, his voice harsh. The sound of it makes me go hot all over, my knees weak.
I try. I part my lips and press back against his mouth, mimicking his movements. It's clumsy, and I'm probably doing it wrong, but Sean makes that sound again and his hand slides into my hair, destroying the careful twist, holding me in place while he deepens the kiss. I hear theclinkof hairpins hitting the concrete of the balcony, my hair suddenly loose in his hand.
His tongue touches my lips and I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to slip inside. The sensation is foreign and overwhelming and makes something low in my belly clench with heat. I grip his shoulders for balance, feeling the solid muscle beneath my palms.
He kisses me as if the rest of the world has stopped spinning. Like I'm the only thing that exists in this moment. Like he's been starving for this and is finally allowing himself to feast.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and his hand is still tangled in my ruined hair.
"Fuck," he mutters. "We shouldn't—this is?—"
But he doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he kisses me again, harder this time. His free hand grips my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel every hard plane of his body through the thin silk of my dress.
This time when his tongue slides against mine, I meet it tentatively with my own. He groans into my mouth, and the sound sends a bolt of heat straight through me. I've never felt anything like this—this wanting, this aching need for more.
Sean presses me back against the wall of the balcony, cages me in with his body, one hand still in my hair and the othersliding down my side, following the curve of my waist, my hip. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire.
"Tell me to stop," he says against my mouth. "Tell me this is a mistake."
I can’t. When I open my mouth, I can still feel the pressure of his lips, the hot slide of his tongue. “I… I don’t think I want you to stop,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering open to meet his. The hunger I see there takes my breath away.
His control snaps completely. The kiss turns brutal, all-consuming, and his hand slides down to grip my thigh through the silk. He pulls my leg up, hitching it around his hip, and suddenly I can feel him—the hard length of him pressing against me through our clothes.
I should be frightened. Should be remembering our wedding night, the panic and fear. But this feels different. This feels like something I want, too. Like if I said no, he’d stop… but I don’t want him to stop.
I want to find out what happens next.
Sean's mouth leaves mine to trail down my jaw, my neck. He finds a spot below my ear that makes me gasp, and I feel him smile against my skin before he bites down gently. The sensation sends sparks of pleasure and pain through me.
"Sean," I whisper, and I'm not sure if I'm asking him to stop or begging him to continue.
