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Let himloseit.

I shift my weight, hover just over him. His length nudges against my entrance, slick with anticipation. I lower myself an inch, let the head slide in, and then stop—teasing.

His eyes blaze. “Aria?—”

“I said,” I whisper darkly, “you don’t get to dictate terms to me.”

Then Islamdown onto him in one savage stroke. We both gasp, the sound punched from our lungs as he fills me, stretches me, splits me open in the most perfect way.

“Fuck,” he groans, head dropping back. “You feel—Jesus—so goddamn tight.”

I ride him slowly at first, grinding my hips in circles, feeling every vein, every inch of him rub against my walls. His hands grip my ass, guiding my pace, but I don’t let him lead. This ismine.

I start to move faster, hips snapping, the wet slap of our bodies obscene and delicious. My breasts bounce with every thrust and his mouth finds them again—biting, sucking, claiming.

The chair rocks with our rhythm, leather creaking. I dig my nails into his shoulders, hips rotating for pleasure.

My thighs burn from the pace I’m setting, but I don’t slow. I don’t want soft. I want to wreck him the way he wrecked me—make him remember this every time he closes his eyes.

His head tips forward, breath hot against my collarbone. “You’re torturing me.”

I rotate my hips, let my pussy slide all around his cock. His hips buck to drive into me, but I push him down, my nails raking down his shoulders. He drives his hips up to meet mine again, and god, the pleasure seeps through deeper, rougher. I can’t fight myself any longer.

I need more.

His hands grip my ass so tight I’ll bruise, but I don’t care. I want the ache. I want the mark.

I feel him everywhere—filling me so deep. Every nerve is lit. Every inch of me feelshis.

“Harder,” he grits, voice hoarse in my ear. “I need to be deeper—needto fuck you properly.”

But even as my body begs for more, my mind stumbles.

What the hell are we doing?

I swore I’d never let him have this again—this power, this access to my soul.

And yet, here I am:open, aching, desperate for him to split me in half.

This isn’t surrender.

This is exposure.

And I don’t know which scares me more.

Before I can answer, he grabs my hips and stands.

With me still on him.

A startled gasp rips from my throat as his hands lock under my thighs, my back arching as he lifts me off the chair, still buried deep inside me. The sudden shift only makes me clench around him, and he groans like he’s dying.

“Fuck—Aria?—”

For a moment, we just breathe.

His forehead presses to mine, slick with sweat and heat and something harder to name.

“I should let you go,” he whispers. “But I don’t know how.”