When he breaks away, he doesn’t let me go.
Instead, his arm slides beneath me, lifting me effortlessly as if my weight means nothing at all. Instinct takes over, I cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he turns, carrying us toward the glass doors.
He doesn’t take us inside.
He pins me there instead, rain streaking down the glass behind me. His presence surrounds me, unyielding, as his forehead rests briefly against mine, breath uneven, control hanging by a thread.
“This,” he murmurs against my mouth, voice rough and unguarded, “is why I tried not to touch you.”
His thumb brushes my jaw, reverent and dangerous all at once.
“And this,” he adds softly, “is why I won’t deny myself anymore.”
His hand drags down my throat slowly, fingers rough enough to steal my breath, until his palm settles high on my chest like he’s claiming the rhythm of my heartbeat for himself. His breathing turns ragged, heavy in the silence between us, each exhale hot against my skin.
He presses closer, leaving no space to pretend this isn’t happening, or that I don’t feel it. The solid heat of him against me sends a sharp pulse low in my stomach, equal parts warning and temptation.
“Tell me no,” he says low, the words threaded with restraint that sounds like pain. “And I’ll stop.”
My throat tightens. I can’t even pretend.
His eyes hold mine, waiting, measuring the choice.
I don’t say no.
Khai exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days. “Good,” he murmurs, and the word is not praise. It’s surrender.
His mouth claims mine again, not a kiss, but a takeover. Sharp, demanding, gone almost as quickly as it begins, like he refuses to give me enough to feel steady. My back hits the glass harder this time, the cold shocking against my overheated skin as his hands slide down my body with unapologetic intent.
They settle on my thighs, gripping tight, holding me exactly where he wants me.
His lips drag along my jaw, slower now, rougher, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath hitch. He follows the line of my throat, kissing, biting, soothing the sting only to start again somewhere new. Every touch feels deliberate, like he’s testing how far I’ll bend before I break.
A quiet sound escapes me, and he stills, not to stop, but to listen. To savour it.
A low, satisfied sound vibrates against my skin before his attention turns sharper, more focused. His one hand sliding higher up my thigh, moving my thong aside, and finding my clit.
His movements grow controlled, almost cruel in their patience, drawing reactions from me piece by piece. Heat coils tight in my stomach, tension winding until I can barely think past the sensation ofhim, his hands, his breath, the way he refuses to let me hide from what he’s doing to me.
My fingers clutch at him, but he only presses closer, crowding my space until there’s nothing left but him.
When the tension finally snaps, it hits hard enough to steal the strength from my body. He holds me up through it, unmoving, letting me fall apart while his voice drops low beside my ear.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, rough and possessive. “I want to see you lose control.”
The words feel like permission, or a command. I’m not sure which.
The air shifts as he pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, unreadable, like he’s deciding something dangerous. The faint sound of movement breaks through the rain, and anticipation curls tight in my chest. I nod, already desperate, already needing more.
He moves slowly at first as he presses into me, almost unbearably so, forcing me to feel every second, every inch of him. When he completely fills me, his head tips back briefly, rain catching in his hair, sliding over sharp features that look almost feral in the dim light.
When his gaze drops back to mine, restraint is gone.
The rhythm builds, measured, controlled, before turning relentless. One hand anchors at my hip, holding me in place as though escape was never an option, the other on my throat. The world dissolves into heat and motion and the rough sound of our breathing tangled together.
He drives me higher without mercy, refusing to slow, refusing to soften, until I shatter again, completely undone in his grasp.
His rhythm turns uneven, desperate, his control finally cracking as his grip tightens at my hip. A low sound tears from his throat, raw, unguarded, and the storm outside feels quieter than the one breaking loose between us.
