My breath catches.
Then his hand slides around my waist, warm and strong and familiar, and suddenly I’m not mad—I’m melting.
“Ihateyou,” I whisper, tilting my head up.
Ash chuckles, low and deep, the sound vibrating through me. “You’re all talk, Olive.” His thumb brushes my jawline, his touch feather-light, almost tender. “But your body tells a different story.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. He’s right, of course. My body betrays me every time, flushing hot at his nearness, aching for his touch.
I bite my lip, trying to hold back the moan that’s bubbling up, but it’s no use. A soft sound escapes, and Ash’s smirk widens.
“See?” he says, his voice a whisper. “You can’t even hide it.”
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine, hungry and demanding. I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.
The kiss is fierce, desperate, like we’ve both been starving for this. His lips are firm, his tongue insistent, and I lose myself in the taste of him—salt and coffee, with a hint of something wild.
“You’re the worst fake fiancé,” I gasp between kisses, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts. His hands are everywhere, roaming my body like he’s mapping it, memorizing every curve and dip.
“And you’re a terrible fake bride,” he retorts, his voice rough with need. His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me tighter against him, and I can feel the hard line of his desire pressing into my stomach.
I shove him back, my hands on his chest, but he doesn’t resist. He lets me push him toward the piano, his eyes dark with want as he watches me. I step closer, my body humming with anticipation, and drop to my knees in front of him.
His breath hitches as my fingers fumble with his belt, my movements clumsy with eagerness. The sound of metal against leather is obscene, a promise of what’s to come. I undo his pants, pulling them down just enough to free him.
His dick is already hard, throbbing in my hands, and I swallow hard, my mouth watering at the sight of him.
“Fuck, Olive,” he groans, his head falling back as he exposes his neck to me. His tattoos—intricate, dark lines that swirl across his skin—flex with his movement, a roadmap of stories I’ll never fully understand.
I glance up, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes are clouded with desire, but there’s something else there too—something raw, something real. “Shut up,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
And then I take him into my mouth.
He groans, his fingers tangling in my hair, holding me there as I work him slowly, savoring the way he twitches and jerks under my touch. His skin is warm, his taste salty and sharp, like the ocean on my tongue. I hum softly, the vibration sending a shudder through him.
“You’re a fucking tease,” he growls, his hips lifting to meet my mouth.
I pull back, licking my lips slowly, deliberately. “And you love it.”
He does. I can see it in the way his breath hitches, in the way his muscles tense under my touch. I stand, shoving him back onto the piano, and he grabs my waist, pulling me between his legs.
His mouth crashes into mine again, his hands roaming my body, squeezing, teasing. I moan into his mouth as his fingers find the waistband of my panties, pushing them down.
I lift my hips, letting him slide them off, and he lifts me onto the piano with him, spreading my thighs. The cool granite presses against my bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat pooling between my legs.
“You’re such an arrogant prick,” I gasp as he enters me in one swift thrust, filling me completely. His cock is thick and hard, stretching me in the best possible way.
“And you’re my favorite fucking brat,” he groans, pulling out and slamming back in.
I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders. He sets a brutal pace, each thrust harder than the last. The piano creaks under us, but I don’t care. I meet him thrust for thrust, my body burning, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Fuck, Ash,” I moan, my head falling back as he hits a spot deep inside me that makes my knees weak. His hands grip my hips, bruising, possessive, as he drives into me with relentless force.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but it’s a lie.
He chuckles darkly, his lips against my neck. “No, you don’t.” His teeth graze my skin, and I cry out, my body tightening around him.
“I do,” I gasp, but the words are hollow, a game we both know we’re losing.
