It destroyed me.
My shirt followed. Then hers. Every piece of clothing removed with shaking hands that didn't feel like mine. She touched my chest—tentative, exploring—and I had to close my eyes against the rush of heat.
I guided her toward the bed. Lowered her onto the mattress with hands that tried to be gentle even though everything in me screamed to claim, to take, to hold.
She looked up at me. Hair spread across the pillow. Breathing uneven. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.
I braced myself over her. Checked her eyes again. "You sure?"
She nodded. Reached up. Cupped my face with trembling fingers. "Don't leave."
The plea hit me like a fist to the sternum.
I wouldn't. Couldn't. Even knowing this was the biggest mistake I'd ever make.
I kissed her forehead. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth. Reverent despite the hunger tearing through me.
My hands moved over her—mapping skin, memorizing the shape of her, pausing every few seconds to make sure she was still with me.
She arched into my touch. Made those small sounds that drove me insane. And when I finally moved over her, settled between her thighs, felt her wrap around me like I was the only solid thing in her world, I broke completely. Everything I'd held back for years crashed through me in a wave I couldn't control.
I buried my face in her neck. Breathed her in. Let myself have this one thing I had no right to want. Just once. Just tonight.
Tomorrow I'd hate myself. Tonight, I'd hold her like she mattered. Because she did.
Her skin was too soft. Too warm. I traced every inch like I could memorize her through touch alone. My mouth followed the path my hands made—shoulder, collarbone, the delicate hollow of her throat. She shuddered when I bit down just hard enough to leave a mark. Good. Let her wear me tomorrow.
I pushed her thighs apart. Watched her breath catch as the cool air hit her. She was already wet, already ready, and something dark and possessive curled in my chest. Mine. Just for tonight.
Her breasts fit perfectly in my hands. I squeezed, thumb brushing over her nipple before I took it between my teeth. She gasped, fingers tangling in my hair, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I needed her to feel this—the ache, the sting, the way her body responded to mine like we’d been made for this. I sucked hard, then harder, until she was whimpering, until her back arched off the bed. The red mark bloomed under my mouth, and I switched to the other side, giving it the same treatment. Let her remember this. Let her remember me.
Guilt twisted in my gut, but I took it out on her skin instead. My teeth grazed her ribs, my fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise. She took it all, took me, and that only made me angrier. At myself. At her. At the way she made me lose control.
I moved lower. Spread her thighs wider, pinning them open with my shoulders. The scent of her hit me like a punch—sweet, intoxicating, hers. My cock throbbed, but I ignored it. This wasn’t about me. Not yet.
First, I’d make her fall apart.
I dragged my tongue through her folds, slow and deliberate. She tasted better than I imagined. Richer. Deeper. I groaned against her; the vibration making her tremble. Her hands flew to my hair, gripping tight, but I didn’t let up. Couldn’t. I lapped at her like a man starving, like I’d never get enough. Her hips lifted, seeking more, and I gave it to her—flat tongue, firm pressure, circling her clit until her thighs shook around my head.
She was dripping. Soaking my chin, my mouth, and I drank her down like I could drown in her. My fingers joined the assault, sliding inside her with a curl that made her gasp. Two, then three, stretching her, filling her while my tongue never stopped. I could feel her getting closer, her muscles tightening, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts.
I pulled back just enough to watch her face as I sucked her clit between my lips. Her eyes flew open, locked onto mine, wide and pleading. Begging. I held her gaze as I flicked my tongue over her, again and again, until her back bowed off the bed and a broken cry tore from her throat.
She came hard. Shuddering, pulsing around my fingers, her release coating my chin. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I lapped at her through it, drawing out every last tremor, every gasp, until she was boneless beneath me.
Only then did I pull back. Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and finally—finally—let myself look at her.
She was ruined. Hair wild, lips swollen, skin flushed. Perfect.
And she was mine. For tonight.
I moved over her before she could catch her breath. My cock ached, heavy and thick between us, but I didn’t give her time to adjust. Didn’t give myself time to think. I grabbed her thigh, yanked it up around my hip, and pushed inside her in one rough thrust.
She gasped, nails digging into my shoulders. So tight—too tight—and for half a second, something ugly twisted in my chest. Had she ever?—?
But then she arched up, taking me deeper, and the thought dissolved into white-hot need. She felt too good. Too perfect. Like she’d been made just to ruin me.
I snapped my hips forward, hard. Punishing. Her fault. All of it. The way she’d looked at me in the café, the way she’d kissed me first, the way she’d begged me not to stop. I gripped her hip hard enough to bruise, my other hand tangling in her hair, yanking just enough to make her whimper. Her body took me like she was built for it, tight and wet and mine, and I hated her for it. Hated that I couldn’t stop. Hated that I’d ever touched her at all.
