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His hands moved instinctively to my thighs, fingers digging in. “Wrath…”

“Don’t stop now,” I whispered. “Not when you finally started touching me like you mean it.”

His control snapped.

Gluttony kissed me harder, messier now, his hands exploring in rough sweeps—my back, my waist, the curve of my hips. His fingers found skin beneath my sweater andlingered,thumbs stroking lazy, possessive circles like he was mapping me by memory.

“Do you know what I do with things I claim?” he growled against my neck.

I shivered. “Feed them?”

His teeth grazed the shell of my ear. “Ruin them.”

I didn’t flinch.

Instead, I pulled his shirt free from his waistband and slid my hands underneath—across heated skin and corded muscle. “Then ruin me, Gluttony.”

A sound escaped him—part groan, part growl—and the next thing I knew, I was lifted off the counter, his mouth never leaving mine. He set me down on the kitchen island like I was a dish he planned to devour, pushing my knees apart with a firm grip.

“I should stop,” he muttered.

“You won’t,” I said, breathless.

He leaned in, lips brushing mine, slow and sinful. “No. I won’t.”

His hands roamed up my thighs, underneath the sweater, trailing fire behind them. He didn’t rush—not Gluttony. He savored.

I was trembling by the time his hands reached my ribs, my breath catching as his thumbs skimmed just beneath the curve of my breasts. My sweater was bunched at my waist, but he didn’t pull it off.

He was waiting.

For permission.

For surrender.

“Gluttony,” I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair, anchoring him close. “This is me saying yes.”

His mouth crashed into mine again, and that was it—the dam broke.

Hands, mouths, breath, the sharp scent of rosemary and heat and him. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered the sound of a pot boiling over and hitting the burner—but neither of us cared.

All that mattered was the press of his body, the heat between us, and the knowledge that, for tonight, Gluttony wouldn’t just feed others.

He’d take something for himself.

And I was more than ready to be taken.

Magick weaved around us, similar to when Lust and the others had been with me but more controlled.

My back hit the refrigerator, and I laughed at the thought of immortal beings having something as mundane as a fridge.

“Am I funny?” he whispered into my ear, easily holding me up with just one hand.

Fuck, vampyre strength.

My arms went around his neck automatically, even as his fangs grazed along the delicate skin of my throat. His free handtore the button of my pants, ripping the zipper and tugging them down over my hips.

A dark thrill went through me; I’d never been taken like this, or with such a show of strength. Not even Xavier had–