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N ikki’s lips crashed against his in a kiss that was fierce, predatory, and tinged with the metallic taste of blood. A blood that seemed to cut through him like fire, making his head swim and his cock strain against his jeans. He felt wild. Lost. And as their tongues warred—wild and desperate—her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if through the force of sheer will she could make their bodies one.

Nikki .

The taste of her. The heat of her. He couldn’t remember ever wanting her more, and yet a voice in the back of his head cried out that this was wrong. Off.

Dangerous.

He didn’t care.

This wasn’t Nikki—somehow he knew that. The woman who burned so hot against him wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t the woman who knew him, loved him, matched him in every way.

And yet she was…

And oh, god, how he craved her. Burned for her.

He tried to fight the urge. Tried to tell himself something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. But that thought was only in his head. The rest of him—body, soul—craved her. Wanted her. Needed her.

The rest of him felt power and lust and longing surging through his veins.

The rest of him would beat the doubts down.

And, yes, he would have her.

“Damien.”

His name was like a switch, shutting off the irritating thoughts, leaving him free to crave, to touch, to need.

And, yes, to succumb.

With a low groan, he pulled her to him again, his mouth capturing hers as her hands roamed his body, her touch frantic and desperate. Her nails scraped his scalp, sending sparks down his spine as her tongue invaded his mouth, coaxing and demanding all at once. She pressed against him, their bodies aligning perfectly, and he could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her dress.

A stab of resistance rose inside him, desperate for an explanation. Fighting the manic energy that was coursing through both of them.

But he shoved it back down. He didn’t want answers— he did! He did!— all he wanted was her. Her body and that primal need that was impossible to ignore.

Her scent filled his senses—a mix of her familiar perfume and something darker, muskier. Something that clouded his judgment like a drug.

No.

Roughly, he pushed away, then drew in a breath as a moment of clarity surged through him. This , he thought. Hang on to this.

But then her lips found his, and his determination shattered as she kissed him harder. Deeper. Hungrier.

He reached behind her, finding the zipper, tugging the dress down, leaving the vintage garment discarded on the floor and kicking it aside so that he could throw her naked onto the couch, lost in her laughter. A raw sound, like a woman who’d just won a battle.

Well, maybe she had.

Then she reached up and grabbed at his shirt, ripping it open, popping buttons with an urgency that bordered on violence. Her lips left his, trailing along his jaw to his neck, her teeth grazing his skin and sending jolts of pleasure and pain through him.

He drew back, then stood, wanting to see her there, laid out on the couch, naked and ready for him, her lips darkened with blood, smears staining her skin as she touched herself. As she spread her legs, revealing the scars on her inner thighs.

“Please,” she whispered, and he came to her, leaning over to kiss her, but she caught his hand, then drew his thumb over those scars before locking her eyes on his.

“Nikki—” His voice broke, low and raw.

But she only smiled, then drew her fingers over the scars. Over the blood, but whether she was trying to draw it in or erase it, he didn’t know. All he knew was the heady scent—metallic and sharp and electric.

All he knew was the way the air crackled between them, charged with something wild and hot. Something he couldn’t name but desperately wanted. Something he knew he should run from, but he couldn’t. He could only move forward, drawn as if by a magnet.

There’s iron in blood.

She reached out her hand, then drew him to her, spreading her legs. “Please,” she whispered, her voice thick with something primal. “I need you. It’s been too long. Far, far too long.”

A voice inside screamed that he needed to run. Needed to find answers.

Needed to find his wife.

But then she opened her eyes, and all he saw was Nikki. She reached for his hand, then stood up, pulling him toward her as she looked at him with hunger-filled eyes. “Fuck me,” she whispered, her fingers tugging at the button of his jeans.

Firelight danced across her face, highlighting the wildness in her expression, making him wild, too. Her lips found his neck, her teeth grazing and biting as her hands worked frantically to shove the jeans down over his hips.

Yes. Oh, god, yes.

He wanted her. Craved her.

Not like this. This wasn’t right.

But it felt right. So damn right. His wife. His woman.

His Vivien.

No.

He jerked back, his body desperate for release, his mind spinning.

She was Nikki .

She was his wife .

Then take her. Prove it. Claim her. Make her yours.

Yes. Dammit, yes.

With two fluid movements, he kicked his jeans the rest of the way off, then pulled them both down to the couch. She straddled him, her smile one of pure victory. He didn’t care. He no longer knew if this was right or wrong. He didn’t even know who he was. Who she was.

All he knew was her.

That she was his, and he had to have her. Had to take her if he was ever going to find his sanity again, because the feel of her—the heat, the pressure, the desperation—was undoing him.

“Yes,” she said, her hands pinned on his shoulders. She offered him a smile of victory before her lips descended on his, fierce and demanding. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as she moved against him, their bodies colliding with a force that was both passionate and brutal.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice a rasp. Her nails raked down his chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I—” His words dissolved into a groan as she ground herself against him.

Her hands cupped his face. “Say it.”

“Yours.” The word tumbled from his lips. “Goddammit, you know I’m yours.”

A smile curled her lips, but it was wrong. It wasn’t Nikki. And that realization clawed at the edges of his mind even as his body betrayed him, responding to her with a ferocity he couldn’t control.

Nikki, Vivien, Carlton, Damien .

He didn’t know any of them. Right then, he didn’t care.

They moved together, their rhythm wild and frantic. Her nails dug into his back, her teeth grazing his shoulder, her breath hot against his ear. He wanted her. Needed her. And he hated himself for it. Because, dammit, the woman he was fucking wasn’t Nikki. Not really.

And what the hell did that say about him?