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I rub my shuddering body against his.

The words I can’t say are clutched in my grasping hands, clinging to my desperate lips.

I’ve never begged Harrison for anything, but now, I am. I’m demanding and pleading in the same breath.

“Fuck, Raegan.”

The moment he takes control, my heart skips in warning, in anticipation.

His tongue thrusts inside my mouth. His groan reverberates through my body, his need colliding with mine.

I want him in me everywhere with the same driving possession.

I grab his hair to change the angle between us, seeking relief even as he chases more friction.

When his hands slide up my legs, no longer inspecting but memorizing, the hunger inside me grows into something alive and throbbing.

The ice falls from my fingers to the floor. My hands run down his untucked shirt before sneaking beneath to caress the hard lines of his abs. Harrison groans, pressing his hips closer.

“So many buttons,” I mutter as I work off his shirt.

He shoves my hands away and rips the garment down the front.

This isn’t sweet—it’s a race to the bottom. The only relief we’ll find tonight is the kind we can give each other.

He backs me into the wall, his hands racing over my breasts, my pebbled nipples.

His fingers settle between my thighs, rubbing through the wet panel of lace.

My face hurts, my body shivers, but his capable fingers make me ache—for more, for him.

He drags my panties down, the lace digging into my hips.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs once they’re gone.

Appreciation isn’t what I need from him.

He’s a storm I can’t control—but he’s one I can choose.

I reach for his belt, fumbling until it falls loose. I drag the zipper down over his straining length.

When my hand closes around him, my throat dries.

He’s strong and male and undeniable. The arousal beading at his tip is for me. The tension in every inch of his glorious body and the fierce possession in his eyes is mine alone.

For the first time outside of a DJ booth, I feel powerful.

Harrison reaches for the bedside table on a hiss, returning to rip at a package and toss the wrapper to the floor.

He rolls the condom down his length, then lifts me against the wall, encouraging me to hook my legs around him.

My head hits the edge of a picture frame. Harrison bats at the frame until it slides down the wall and hits the floor with a thud.

He grabs my hip, positioning himself between my thighs. “Need you now.”

It’s a warning or a declaration, because the next second, he thrusts.

He’s big and thick. My body has to stretch to take him the way he’s demanding.