“Because I want to know if it’s real.” I stand. Walk around the table toward him. Each step slow and taunting as the silk moves, exposing my thighs. “Your obsession. Whatever this is. I need to know I’m not just?—”
I can’t articulate what I need.
Proof that I matter. That I’m not nothing. That the violence and the want and the way he looks at me mean something more than possession.
“—just entertainment,” I finish. “Something to fuck with when you’re bored. Something to break.”
He snaps.
One moment he’s sitting. The next he’s on his feet, moving too fast to track, and my back hits the wall with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.
His hand wraps around my jaw. Tilting my face up. Body caging me against the soft wall.
“You want me to lose control?” His voice is wrecked. Dark. “I am barely holding onto control when you’re in the room, tesoro.When you walk. When you breathe. When you look at me like you’re looking at me right now.”
My heart hammers. Pulse pounding in my throat under his palm.
“Tell me to stop.” His eyes bore into mine. “Right now. Say the word, and I take you back to the villa. Nothing happens. I walk away.”
I open my mouth.
Stop.
Four letters. One syllable. I’ve said it before. Can say it again.
“I don’t—” My voice breaks. “I didn’t mean it, I take it back?—”
“That’s not stop.”
I don’t say stop.
His control shatters.
Both hands bury in my hair, tightening—not gentle, not careful, but like he’s been holding back so long the restraint is physically painful. His fingers thread through the strands, knuckles brushing my scalp, then close into fists, pulling just enough to tilt my head back and force my eyes to his. I see it then, the crack.
His pupils blown wide, breathing ragged, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps under the skin. The man who offered me stop after stop, he’s gone. What’s left is hunger stripped bare, the leash he’s kept on himself finally snapped. Both hands bury deeper in my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me as his mouth crashes into mine.
Not soft. Not asking. Just claiming. His lips seal over mine, rough and desperate, tongue pushing past the seam of my mouth before I can even draw breath to protest. I make a sound against him, small, helpless, wanting, and he swallows it like it’s fuel, like he’s been starving for that exact noise.
He takes more.
Deeper. Harder. One hand slides to cup the back of my neck, thumb pressing against my pulse, feeling how fast it races. The other stays tangled in my hair, keeping me locked to him so I can’t pull away even if I wanted to.
I don’t.
My hands are still on his shoulders, fingers digging in, but now they’re pulling him closer instead of bracing. My body arches into his without permission, breasts pressing against his chest, hips seeking the hard line of him through the dress.
He groans into my mouth, low, broken, and the sound vibrates through me, straight between my legs.
“This is a mistake—” I gasp when he breaks the kiss to drag his mouth down my jaw. “We can’t?—”
But I’m not pushing. My fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he knows. Of course he knows.
His hands find the straps of red fabric covering my breasts. Slide them down my shoulders with agonizing slowness.
The dress pools at my waist.
Cool air hits my bare chest. Nipples hardening instantly. From cold, from want, from the way he’s looking at me like I’m something sacred.
