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“Make me.”

I kiss him just to stop him from talking.

That only makes him laugh, the sound disappearing into my mouth while his hand keeps me exactly where he wants me. I’ve been rolling against him without thought, once, then again, my cock trapped hard between us, every movement sending another burst of want through me.

Light, I have never felt like this.

My skin is cold, my face is burning, and everything below my waist feels completely out of control. I shove at him again because I need to do something, anything, but he catches my wrist and grinds against me at the same time.

I moan shamelessly into his mouth.

His tongue slides past mine, the silver bar dragging against mine, and I lose whatever fight I have left. My hips move harder, unhinged now, chasing him as his fist stays tight in my hair.

For one impossible second, I’m not carrying anything. Not the name. Not the file. Not Onyx’s future. There’s only his mouth and his body beneath mine, and the pressure building so fast I can barely breathe.

He bites my lower lip.

I moan again.

“Again,” he murmurs.

I don’t know whether he means the sound or the movement.

I give him both.

The tension snaps.

I come right in my pants, untouched except for the pressure of our bodies grinding together, my whole body locking before it shakes. I gasp into his mouth while wet heat pulses against the soaked fabric, horror arriving before the pleasure has even finished.

And under the horror comes fury.

At him.

Because he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You...” I wrench my mouth away, breathing hard. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did.”

No shame. No apology. Just those black-gold eyes watching me like this is the best thing he’s seen all night.

I glare at him and try to get off, but my legs feel useless. “You’re such an asshole.”

His thumb brushes over my swollen lip. “And you still didn’t stop.”

My face burns hotter.

Because he’s right.

I could have stopped. I could have fought harder. I could have moved away.

I didn’t.

I fix the fire that doesn’t need fixing, putting as much space between us as the hollow allows. My body still trembles from small aftershocks, the wet patch is sticky against my skin and already cooling, and I refuse to look at him.

For once, he lets me.

The silence lasts long enough for my breathing to settle. Outside, the storm has begun to quiet, letting cold air seep through the cracks around the roots.