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“Fuck,” I breathe, and he grins—just a little—before his tongue invades my mouth like he owns it, like he’s been starving.

His hands slide to my waist, squeezing tight—so tight my toes curl—then he starts walking me back until my spine hits the wall and his body cages me in.

I can feel him, hard against my stomach, and the rush of heat that follows pools low between my legs.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps against my lips.

Ican’t.Instead, I whisper, “Don’t.”

And he doesn’t.

His hands are everywhere—skimming my sides, cupping my breasts through my T-shirt, gripping my hips.

He shrugs off his jacket. I fumble with his tie and shirt buttons until he pulls the shirt off with a smirk, revealing a tanned, muscular chest scattered with scars.

Then suddenly, he’s on me—yanking my T-shirt over my head. His eyes darken the moment they land on my plain cotton bra.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You look like sin.”

I almost laugh—because I’m not. I’m ordinary. But the way he looks at me makes me feel beautiful.

His hands slide down to cup my ass, and in one smooth motion, he lifts me off the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist, our kiss never breaking, still hot and urgent.

He carries me like I weigh nothing down the short hallway to my bedroom.

He tosses me onto the bed. I bounce once before he follows, crawling over me with predatory intent.

His hand wraps around my throat—not choking, just there, claiming—and the possessiveness in his eyes sets me on fire.

“You’re driving me insane. I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you.”

His hand slides beneath my back and unhooks my bra, exposing me completely. Then his mouth crashes down on my nipple—biting, sucking—brutal in a way that makes my back arch.

I gasp, not from pain, but from the way it sends heat shooting straight between my thighs.

His teeth graze the sensitive peak, just enough to sting, and then he pauses—watching me squirm beneath him.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low and filthy. “Tell me exactly how you want me.”

“Rough,” I whisper, breath hitching. “I want to ache when I think about you tomorrow.”

He doesn’t disappoint.

He moves to the other breast, sucking so hard I know I’ll be marked—and I want that. I want to wear the evidence of him.

My fingers dig into his back, nails raking trails into his skin.

“More,” I whisper.

He lets out a raw sound, low and desperate.

Then he raises his head and looks down at me like I’m a puzzle he intends to break apart piece by piece.

“If you want me to stop, say it now. Because I’m one second away from fucking devouring you.”

I try not to whimper at the pleasure his words pour over me.

“No,” I say, voice choked. “Don’t stop… please.”