I can’t explain this deep-seated desire to steal a piece from her, claim a part of her so neither of us will forget the other.
“Experience or lack thereof, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. You would have caught my attention and landed in my bed anyway,” I say, dipping my head to claim her mouth.
I press my lips on hers—gentle—a contrast to my nature.
She’s a rose blooming under my kisses, revealing her core, petal for petal. There is nothing that isn’t sweet about her. Damn, I could get addicted.
She fists her hands in my lapels, trembling as I nibble on her lower lip. My tongue slips inside her mouth, and I groan at the exquisite feeling. She tastes of ambrosia, and I am a man experiencing paradise. I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop.
She moans in response, and I trace my tongue just like I want to trace my hands all over her, ravishing her from the inside out. She’s so responsive—following my lead, unleashing the beast pummeling at its cage to break free and devour her.
My rhythm changes, charged with unbearable demand. Greed overpowers me, the kiss turning ardent, burning with desire.
I kiss her until she gasps for air. I kiss her some more, becoming the very air she breathes. I kiss her until I know for certain no one else has or will ever kiss her like me.
Lips fused together, our tongues move in a sensual dance of surrender and passion.
I end the kiss before I lose my goddamn mind for good and take her right here and now, forgetting where we are. I want to savor her in the privacy of my home—she’s just for my eyes only.
She looks at me with glazed over eyes, pressing her fingers to her swollen lips in a daze.
“The night is not over,” I say, breathing hard.
I offer her my hand in a silent invitation, ready to consume her—eager to feast on her and satiate the need she carved in me and wait.
Restlessness makes me a jittery mess as I let someone else decide. If she refuses me, I don’t know what I will do. I am not ready to let her go.
She slips her hand into mine, her trust undoing me.
“You decide what will happen. You’re in control,” I assure her.
She nods, not realizing that I’ve never done this before. Let someone lead, but I don’t want to scare her.
Masks back on, and hand in hand, I rush toward the elevator, ignoring everyone and everything in my quest to have her for myself.
The elevator pings downstairs with the same impatience that runs through my veins. I doubt I have ever coveted a woman with sheer abandon, as if being with her would wash away my sins. Desperate, like I am drowning in an ocean of darkness, and she is my lifeline of light.
It feels like the last bits of humanity I possess have been saved for this encounter.
This shit happening inside of me electrifies me as much as it terrifies me. And nothing ever terrifies me. I am the one people fear, not the other way around. It’s just desire, I tell myself.
Then why the fuck do I urge her on toward the other side of the street and bring her to my place, where no woman has been.
The moment the elevator stops at the top level, she whips her head from me to the interior. “Wow, your place is something else.”
Her awed expression fills me with unbelievable pride that my home elicits an even stronger reaction than the skyline.
Her heels clack on the marble floor, and she stops in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, revealing a view of Central Park. “This entire night seems surreal.”
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask, before I forget about manners and desire overpowers the gentleman, I try hard to be for her.
“I think I’m drunk enough on all this…you. I’m losing my mind, Tristan.”
I don’t even know what part affects me more: my name flowing out of her mouth in sweet surrender, or that she joins me in this madness I can’t make sense of.
I cut the distance between us and grip her chin, forcing her to look up at me. I could gaze forever into those greens that swallow my soul piece by piece.
“Tell me you want this,” I say, voice hoarse with unrestrained lust.
