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He steps forward, and I suck in a shaky breath, lifting my chin.

“So, take me.”

His mouth crashes into mine.

There’s nothing gentle about it. His hand fists in the back of my hair, angling my head as his tongue slides deep, claiming, devouring. I moan against him, and he swallows it, groaning into my mouth like he’s been starving for this, like I’m the only thing that will ever satisfy him.

We stumble back until my spine meets a wall. He presses against me, his hard body fitting into mine like it belongs there. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my thighs, cupping my ass and pulling me closer until I can feel just how hard he is.

“You drive me insane,” he breathes against my neck, nipping the skin just below my ear. “The way you looked at me during the ceremony…Knowing I couldn’t touch you yet…”

“You can now,” I whisper, breathless. “You can do anything you want.”

He growls low in his throat and lifts me without warning. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, dress riding up as he carries me to the massive bed in the center of the room.

The mattress dips beneath us as he lays me down, looming over me like a wolf ready to devour his prey. He doesn’t look away as he strips off his shirt, revealing muscle by muscle in the candlelight. His body is beautiful, scarred and powerful and mine.

“Take it off,” he says, voice rough, eyes on my gown. “All of it.”

I sit up, trembling slightly, and reach for the delicate clasp behind my neck. He watches me the entire time—eyes hot, dark, reverent—as I shimmy the dress down my body and push it aside. My breasts are bare. My thighs shake. I’ve never felt so exposed in my life.

Or so wanted.

He exhales sharply and kneels on the bed, grabbing my hips and pulling me to the edge until I’m flush against him. He doesn’t give me time to be shy. His mouth is on my neck again,trailing lower, kissing a path down my collarbone. When his tongue flicks over my nipple, I arch with a gasp, and he groans, sucking harder.

“Griffin—” I pant, fingers twining in his hair.

“I need you,” he growls against my skin. “Right now.”

He drags his hands down my sides, pushes my legs apart, and settles between them. I can feel him, hot and hard through his pants, pressing exactly where I need him most. My hips buck involuntarily, and he smirks, watching me squirm.

“You’re already soaked for me,” he says, dragging a finger along the slick heat between my thighs. “You were made for this, weren’t you?”

I can’t answer. My body is shaking, burning.

He undoes his pants and frees himself, and I gasp when I see him. He’s thick, long, flushed with arousal, and I know he’ll stretch me. I know it’ll hurt—but I want it. I want him.

He grips my hips and pushes forward, just an inch, and my breath catches.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice hoarse now.

I do. Our eyes lock, and slowly, he pushes in deeper.

Every muscle in my body tenses at the burn, the pressure, but his hand comes up to cup my cheek, grounding me.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You can take it. You’re mine, Maya. You were made to take me.”

God, the way he says my name—it’s reverent yet filthy, full of heat.

He seats himself fully inside me and stills. I can feel his pulse, the way he trembles with restraint. I’m so full of him that I can barely breathe.

Then, he moves.

The first thrust knocks the air from my lungs. The second makes me cry out. His rhythm is hard, deep, possessive—likehe’s trying to imprint himself into every part of me. And maybe he is. I want him to. I want this forever.

His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my cries. His body moves over mine like a tide that won’t stop until I’m wrecked, ruined.

“You feel like heaven,” he pants against my lips. “Mine. Only mine.”