She wets her lips, her eyes shining as if she’s indeed drunk on my presence. Nothing has made me feel more powerful than this. That’s dangerous because I might not let her go.
“I want this, but…,” she says, sounding unsure, yet there’s something else present, pure desire laced with uncontrollable curiosity.
“No buts, just you and me.” I slam my mouth on hers, wanting to erase any doubt.
Have I ever felt the need to kiss someone? No, never.
With her, it’s like she feeds me life while I feast on her, my hunger overwhelming me.
For the first time in my life, my brain stills. There are no plans I concoct, no strategy I follow, no new ideas on how to grow my empire. Just this all-consuming, all-encompassing sensation. There’s freedom in letting go. Nothing matters but her in my arms.
I unzip the corset, my fingers moving slowly as if unwrapping a gift—precious, unique. I don’t rush through it, but wish to prolong, savor each second, knowing it can’t repeat itself.
My touch leaves a trail of goose bumps on her skin, and I nibble along her neck, needing to have more than my hands on her—connect with her in every way, so she can feel what she does to me.
“Why does it feel so good when it’s so bad?” she breathes out, holding on to me.
“I don’t know.” Nothing but having her matters—in all ways. It is the only cure for this insanity.
I can’t afford to allow someone to wield such power over me. It would be catastrophic to my well-laid life plan. Even that sounds like a distant, flimsy thought, the consequences are irrelevant.
Nothing matters more than making her mine—taking her and trying to satisfy my hunger for her, the ache growing inside of me with each passing second.
I slip the dress off her, seeing her reflection in the window—perfection. She’s the picture of feminine grace, those soft curves undoing me. From head to toe, she’s a masterpiece I could watch for eternity and never tire.
“You’re so beautiful,” I rasp.
“You think?” she asks, the hint of disbelief clear.
“I know,” I say, brooking no argument.
She looks at me over her shoulder, gifting me with the softest smile. “I’m not used to getting attention, receiving compliments.”
Her vulnerability cracks through the facade, or maybe it’s just another honest moment transpiring between us.
“It’s not a good thing wanting my attention, Viviana,” I warn her, even though it’s too late. For her and for me.
“And yet, it feels like I have it completely.”
I chuckle, utterly fascinated by her.
“I really shouldn’t,” she says, but the reservation sounds weak.
I brush my knuckles over her breasts, my mouth watering at the two puckered cherries, ripe for me to taste. “The best things in life are the worst for us.”
A tremor rocks her. “Sounds like the ultimate hedonist.”
I am a bastard; my conscience was stabbed to death a long time ago, but I refuse to take advantage of her. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.
Taking a step back, I cock my head and shove my hands in my pants, trying to restrain myself. “You want me? You want this? Then show me.”
“Even if I regret it, I don’t want to say no. I can’t say no.”
3
VIVIANA
Never in my life have I felt so desired that I could burst out of my body. Never in my life have I experienced a passion so intense that it clouds my judgment.
