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“You said I want you,” I whisper, mouth brushing the shell of his ear. “But maybe you’re the one who can’t stay away. Maybe you’re the one whose body gives away everything you try to hide.”

His breath catches.

Good.

I kiss him again, slower this time. Deep, consuming. I nip at his lip, slide my tongue against his, claiming, not surrendering.

He groans into my mouth, wrists flexing under my grip.

“Aria,” he rasps.

I lean back just far enough to meet his eyes, hips still rolling. “Say please.”

His jaw clenches. His pride wars with his desire, with his throbbing hardness pressing between my thighs.

But I wait.

And finally—finally—he mutters it.

“Please.”

My smile is razor-sharp.

“Good.”

I kiss him again, grabbing the collar of his shirt, yanking with all my strength until the buttons tear free. I run my hands down his chest, the muscles rippling, reminding me of all the times I had been pinned beneath him.

God, I want to see it all. My fingers drag the shirt down his arms while he grips my waist.

The rage has melted into raw, carnal need, and I want toconsumehim.

He grips my hips as I move against him, the hard line of his cock straining against his pants. I lean forward, my mouth at hisear. “I should make you beg,” I whisper, biting his lobe, “for lying to me.”

“Make me,” he dares, voice like gravel.

So I do.

I lean back just enough to grab the zipper of my dress and yank it down in one motion, baring the flushed swell of my breasts. I shrug the fabric off my shoulders until it pools at my waist, and then his hands are on me, rough and starved.

His mouth crashes down on my breast, tongue swirling over my nipple until it stiffens under his teeth. He bites—not gently. I moan, sharp and helpless, as he sucks hard, leaving a dark bloom in his wake. The pain twists into pleasure, and I arch my spine, offering more.

I reach behind me to unclasp my bra, but he beats me to it—fingers hooking beneath the lace, and with one savage rip, he tears it off me. The sound alone makes my pussy clench.

“You always were better ruined,” he mutters against my skin, and then he’s back on me—biting, licking, devouring. One hand cups my breast while his mouth works the other, tugging and sucking like he means to leave me trembling.

I’m already wet. Dripping. My thighs are slick where they press against his pants, and when I roll my hips again, he groans into my skin.

I lift slightly and shove my dress up over my hips, exposing the thin black lace of my panties. His eyes go molten at the sight.

“Take them off,” he rasps.

I do it slow, dragging the wet fabric down my thighs while his hands roam my ass. I’m bare now, dress bunched at my waist, my slick heat inches from his cock, and I don’t wait. I reach between us and start unbuckling his belt, fingers clumsy with urgency.

He lifts his hips just enough for me to yank down his pants and boxers in one go. His length springs free—thick, flushed, heavy—and my mouth waters at the sight.

I wrap one hand around him, stroking from base to tip, watching his jaw clench as I do. My thumb swirls over the bead of pre-come. His grip tightens on my hips like he’s trying to keep control.

Good.