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“Impatient, aren’t we?” he murmurs against my jaw, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin of my neck. “We’re apart for three weeks and you turn into a feral little thing.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, abandoning all dignity as I rock my hips against me. “Shut up and touch me.”

He chuckles darkly against my pulse point. “Make me.”

I shove him back against the cushions, the springs groaning under our combined weight as I straddle his hips.

“I need you,” I beg, my hands fumbling uselessly at his belt. “Now, Malachi. Right n⁠—”

“I’ve got you,” he snarls.

His large hands grip the waistband of my jeans, fingers digging into my hips with bruising force. There’s a sharp pop of rivets giving way, followed by the rip of denim being torn apart.

“There,” he grinds out. “Problem solved.”

Without preamble, he shoves two fingers past the ruined fabric and underwear, straight into my already-soaked pussy.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

His free hand clamps onto my hip, fingers digging into the bone to force me down onto his hand, setting a punishing, grinding rhythm that sends heat rushing through my blood.

“Hands on my throat,” he commands, his voice rough with a dark, twisted need. “Now, Eden. Squeeze.”

My hands fly to his neck, thumbs pressing against his windpipe.

“Nope,” he rasps, leaning into the pressure. “Harder.”

He matches the pressure of my grip with the unyielding rhythm of his hand between my legs. He fucks into me, stretching me wide as his thumb attacks my clit until my hips are snapping forward to meet him, desperate for more.

“I can feel you,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to his invading hand. “You’re going to squirt all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I just nod, a desperate jerk of my chin, tears pricking my eyes as the pressure coils tighter and tighter.

My hips buck against his hand, a strangled groan tearing from me as the pleasure spikes, wild and blinding. I come hard, a brutal, drenching release that coats his hand and wrist in a hot, clear flood.

The most delicious moan I’ve ever heard rips free from him. “Fuck. Look at you. You’re a mess. But we’re not finished.”

In one fluid movement, he withdraws his slick hand and hauls me from his lap, standing above me. With one boot, he shoves the coffee table across the carpet, sending my mug and a stack of books crashing against the far wall.

Then his hands wrap around my ankles, and with a demanding tug, he drags me off the cushions. I gasp, the rose dropping from my hair, limbs flailing as gravity takes over. But his hand snaps out, catching the back of my head just inches from the floor, lowering me the rest of the way with careful control.

He looms over me, blocking out the light, a silhouette of tailoring and raw hunger. He kicks his boots across the room and rips his belt out of the loops with a sharp hiss of leather. The ends of it dangle down, brushing against my chest as he hooks it around his neck, drops to his knees, and plants his hands on the floor either side of my head, caging me in.

“Wrap your hands around it,” he commands, nodding at the leather strap around his throat. “Pull it tight. Anchor yourself.”

I scramble to obey, grabbing the leather to choke him just as he frees his cock and drags the cold, unforgiving metal of the piercing right over my swollen, over-sensitive clit.

Thank God he kept the piercing.

He slams his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one devastating thrust.

Fuck.

The sensation is incandescent. The heavy silver barbell drags against the soft, sensitive inner walls, a beautiful intrusion that makes my toes curl.

“The belt,” he snarls, the veins in his neck straining as he holds himself deep inside me. “Pull it tighter.”

I yank harder, strangling him, using it to haul my upper body off the rug.