“Hattie.” He whispers my name gruffly, but I see his naked desire, burning like a flame.
My own lust must be kerosene.
I give him another long stroke, watching his muscles flex.
His chiseled abs ripple, and I can almost sense the restraint he needs not to push himself into my palm.
I don’t care what’s going on with our fake engagement—there’s nothing make-believe about this.
Nothing fake about the fairy-tale way he looks at me now.
My throat closes as I pull off my dress.
This mutual lust is a visceral thing, a stormfront demanding release, and there’s something inevitable about the wind, the lightning, the way he’ll soon be pelting every inch of my body with passion.
Once I’m naked, I hop up on the marble island.
I’m almost the same height as him up here, and he rewards me for being so eager, sliding a hand to my clit as I stroke him again.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “You keep this so wet and hot on demand, Pages. Never fucking stop.”
I shudder.
“I need you inside me.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
This is for both of us, a need for more.
With one hand at the nape of my neck, he pushes a finger inside, then two, and I arch against him.
My breasts brush the wall of his chest, sending electricity arcing through me.
Heat pools between my legs.
Oh, it won’t take much today.
With my free hand, I take his cock again and stroke him, this time faster.
Moisture beads at the tip, and he’s almost painfully hard now, pulsing in my hand like an angry animal.
We kiss, teeth nipping, breaths catching as we work each other over, until I can’t take it anymore.
I need him to fill me.
I’m obsessed since we dropped the condoms, crazed to have him skin-on-skin, to feel him pour out inside me.
“Now!” I whisper, biting his bottom lip. His growl sends fire through me. “Now, Ethan.”
He removes his fingers, putting them to his mouth so he can taste me.
With eyes cut from pure midnight locked on mine, he pushes inside my pussy.
Filling me.
I groan at how good, how right, how worthy he makes me feel.
This is what I need, more than my next breath.
