His tongue teases the seam of my lips, and I open for him, letting him in, letting him ruin me.
His hands skim low, dragging over my hips like he owns them, pulling me flush against him, closer, deeper, until I’m breathless and burning.
I barely register the moment he spins me, backing me against the counter. Cool marble bites through my dress, but his hands,his mouth, God, they’re fire.
He palms my thigh, rough and desperate, shoving the hem of my dress higher. His fingers dig in like he’s claiming territory, like he’s daring me to stop him.
I don’t.
His mouth breaks from mine, hot against my neck, jaw tight with restraint.
“Tell me,” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “You’re not married.”
I freeze for half a second, heart hammering, breath caught in my throat.
He knows. Of course he does. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.
But it’s not a question.
It’s a demand.
A need.
His grip tightens, lips grazing the hollow of my throat. “Say it.”
My pulse skitters. “I-I’m not.”
His eyes burn into mine, wild and unrelenting. “Say it again.”
I-I’m not married,” I breathe, the words barely making it past my lips.
But it’s not enough. Not for him.
His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as his gaze searches mine, dark, hungry, haunted.
“Is there anyone else?” His voice is low, guttural. “Anyone touching you? Anyone tasting you?”
I shake my head, breathless. “N-no. There’s… there’s no one.”
His expression shatters, something raw and wrecked flickering through his eyes and still, it’s not enough.
“Tell me again.”
My throat tightens. “There’s no one else. J-just you.”
A sound escapes him, half groan, half growl and he’s on me again, mouth crashing to mine like he’s been holding back for years.
“Then I’m not stopping,” he mutters against my lips. “Not this time.”
I don’t want him to.
Because we both know I never did.
Just like that, we’re past the point of no return.
16
Ben
