"Your place?"
"Yes."
He pulled back just enough to look at her, and the naked hunger in his eyes made her stomach flip. But beneath the desire, she saw something else. Uncertainty. Fear.
He's still afraid I'll change my mind.
She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"Take me home, Tarmek."
Something in him shattered.
She saw it happen—the careful walls he'd built crumbling into dust, leaving nothing but raw need and desperate hope. He kissed her once more, hard and brief, then grabbed her hand and practically dragged her towards the door.
The drive to his condo passed in a blur of heated glances and white-knuckled steering wheel grips. Every red light was agony. Every second spent not touching him felt like a waste.
When they finally stumbled through his front door, Edie barely had time to register the familiar space—the clean lines, the organized shelves, the painful tidiness that still made her chest ache—before Tarmek was on her.
He pressed her against the wall, his body a solid wall of heat, and kissed her like he was dying and she was the only cure.
"Bedroom," she gasped against his mouth.
"Yes."
He lifted her effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her down the hallway. The bedroom was exactly as she remembered—huge bed, perfectly made, navy sheets that still smelled faintly of his soap.
He laid her down with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the urgency of moments before, and she pulled him down on top of her, reveling in his weight.
"Edie." His voice was wrecked. "I need to—I want to?—"
"Stop talking."
She reached for the buttons of his shirt, fingers trembling with impatience. He helped her, shrugging out of the fabric, and then his hands were on her zipper, peeling the borrowed dress away until she was laid bare beneath him.
His eyes raked over her body with an intensity that made her flush.
"Beautiful."
"Tarmek—"
"Let me." He pressed a kiss to her collarbone. "Let me show you."
And then his mouth was moving down her body, methodical and thorough, mapping every inch of skin like he was memorizingher. She arched and gasped and clutched at the sheets, overwhelmed by the focused precision of his attention.
Because that's what this was.
Attention.
Tarmek worshipped her body the same way he approached everything else—with obsessive, single-minded dedication. He found every sensitive spot, learned every response, cataloged every sound she made.
By the time he finally settled between her thighs, she was shaking.
"Please—"
He looked up at her, dark eyes blazing. "I've got you."
And then—finally—he was inside her.
