Because if I let go, I'll do something I can't take back.
Something I shouldn't want as much as I do. I’m battling with myself when she suddenly moves.
She kisses me.
Slams her mouth against mine so hard our teeth clash. It's not gentle. Not soft. It's fury and relief and adrenaline all exploding at once.
I should stop this. Should push her away. Should be the one with control.
But fuck control.
I release her wrists, and my hands go to her waist, yanking her against me hard enough that she gasps into my mouth. My cock grows hard instantly.
Her hands are in my hair immediately, pulling hard enough to hurt. Good. I want it to hurt. Want something real and physical and undeniable.
I spin her around, press her back against the SUV. Her leg hooks around my hip, and I groan against her mouth as I push my cock against her. The contact has me throbbing.
"William." My name sounds wrecked coming from her lips.
I pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips are swollen and red. Her breathing is ragged. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with want and fury.
She's beautiful and furious, and I want to devour her.
I don't say anything. Don't warn her. Don't ask permission.
My hand slides up her thigh, rough and deliberate, pushing the silk dress higher. Her skin is hot under my palm, smooth and perfect, and when my fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hip, she gasps against my mouth.
Good.
I want her gasping. Want her wrecked. Want her to feel a fraction of what she does to me.
Her nails scrape down my chest. The sharp sting makes me groan, and I bite down on her bottom lip in response.
She makes a sound that’s a half-moan, half-curse, and her hips buck forward, seeking friction.
I give it to her.
My thigh pushes between her legs, pressing up hard, and she breaks the kiss to gasp my name.
"William—"
"Don't." My voice comes out rough. "Don't fucking talk."
I want her mindless. Want her beyond words.
My hand tangles in her hair, pulling her head back so I can get to her throat. I bite down on the pulse point, hard enough that she'll feel it tomorrow, hard enough to mark.
Mine.
The thought comes unbidden and wrong, and I don't fucking care.
Her hands are everywhere, pulling at my shirt, scratching down my back, gripping my shoulders. She's as desperate as I am, all that careful control shattered into nothing.
I shove the dress higher, bunching it around her waist. My hand finds bare skin, the curve of her ass, and I grip hard enough to make her arch.
She gasps.
The zipper at the back of her dress comes down in one hard pull. The silk falls open, exposing smooth skin and the black lace underneath.
