“Don’t make me fall for you.” The words leave me before I can stop them. Too honest. Too exposed. And the second they exist between us, regret coils low and sharp in my stomach.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at me like he’s taking something apart in his head, thread by thread, deciding what to keep.
Then he moves.
He yanks me forward and kisses me like it’s a war he’s already decided to win.
There’s no care in it. No patience. Just heat, teeth, and the kind of control that doesn’t ask permission. My silk dress twists around my legs as he spins me, one arm locking hard around my waist while the other fists the slit, and tears it wider, baring my thighs to the cold air as he drives me backward.
I don’t even realize where we’re going until my chest hits the floor-to-ceiling window.
The glass is freezing. The shock steals the breath from my lungs, hardens my nipples instantly as I gasp and slap my palms against it, and scramble for balance. He doesn’t slow. He shoves the dress higher, bunching it at my waist, leaving me exposed and shaking.
“You like being on display?” he growls, his voice low and wrecked in my ear. “You like being fucked where anyone could see?”
“Asher—”
“Look out the window.”
It’s not a request. The command snaps through me, sharp and undeniable, and I obey.
Central Park glitters below us, a thousand lights scattered like stars that don’t care what’s happening above them. My breath fogs the glass. My reflection stares back—eyes too wide, lips parted, silk torn, and lace ripped aside. A woman I don’t quite recognize. A woman caught mid-collapse.
His hand closes around my throat. Not crushing. Not gentle. Just enough to tilt my head back and make the room sway.
“Pretty little chemist,” he snarls, grinding into me. “You act so innocent. So in control. But I know what you are.”
The sound that leaves me isn’t graceful. It’s a whimper, thin and broken, as he pushes inside me—deep, brutal, and claiming. There’s nothing exploratory about it. He knows exactly what he wants.
“You’re mine.”
He takes me from behind, slamming into me hard enough to make the glass shudder. My breasts flatten with every thrust, nipples scraping against the cold, sensation stacking too fast, and too sharp until pleasure and humiliation blur together. Power tangles through it all, tight and suffocating.
I hear myself moan. Loud. Shameless. Like my body is answering before I can stop it.
“Let them hear you,” he growls, his hand slides between us, and fingers circle my clit with ruthless precision. “Let the whole fucking city know who you belong to.”
And I do.
I come fast and hard, crying out his name like it might save me. Like it might mean something.
It doesn’t slow him down.
He pulls out, spins me, and lifts me against the glass. My back hits it this time, and the only thing keeping me upright is the heat of his body pressed tight against mine.
“You still want to fall for me?” he snarls.
I can’t answer. There’s no air left in my lungs. His cock thrusts into me again, stealing whatever breath I had.
Everything from dinner—his rage, my defiance, and all the words we never said—detonates here. It’s filthy, frantic, and dangerous. He’s fucking me like he needs to prove something. Like if he goes hard enough, he can erase the question entirely.
My nails dig into his shoulders. My legs lock around his waist. My head falls back—and when the next orgasm tears through me, raw and unguarded, the truth slips out before I can stop it.
“I love you.”
It’s soft. Cracked. Real.
And he—
