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The way she fits, the way every line of her body responds to mine, the way everything between us feels explosive, consuming—it’s no wonder she’s driving me out of my mind.

“You good?” I ask, needing that confirmation before I let go completely.

“Perfect,” she breathes, her body arching into mine.

Exactly.

We’re in perfect sync.

I increase the rhythm, and she follows without hesitation, her thighs brushing against mine in a smooth, relentless pace that builds and builds, the passion between us becoming almost suffocating.

I lower my mouth again, taking one nipple between my teeth, making her cry out, while my hand slides down, fingers pressing over her clit, intensifying her pleasure.

Her back arches, moans spilling freely, her hands tugging into my shoulders, her nails dragging lightly across my skin as she moves with me, whispering my name between broken breaths.

I feel it—her body tightening, trembling, the tension coiling higher.

“You feel amazing,” I groan, my voice rough, strained. “So perfect for me.”

Her lips part, her eyes heavy, unfocused.

“Ethan… I… I’m…” she gasps, the words dissolving into a long, shaking moan.

I push deeper, harder, my thrusts meeting hers until the tension finally breaks.

Her body shudders violently, trembling around me as her orgasm crashes through her.

I follow immediately, the control snapping completely, release hitting in heavy waves that leave me breathless.

We collapse together, bodies slick, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in the same rhythm.

She turns her head to kiss me slowly, a stark contrast to everything that came before, and I can still feel the faint tremor running through her.

“You were incredible,” I murmur into her mouth, my voice quieter now, rough but softened at the edges.

She laughs breathlessly, warmth and satisfaction in the sound, wrapping herself around me, pulling me closer.

“You too, Ethan… absolutely perfect.”

THIRTY

Thalia

Ethan rises slowly from me, that playful glint in his eyes and the wicked grin that drives me crazy resting on his lips.

I’m caught between the urge to pull the sheet over me and the desire to stay still, pretending I have the kind of confidence I absolutely don’t feel right now.

It’s far too easy to give in whenever I’m with him—to forget shame, hesitation, or the fact that I’m in bed with one of the most desired men in London, New York, and, let’s be honest, probably half the world.

I don’t know what draws him to me. I mean, yes, I know I look good—beautiful, even—but he could have any woman he wants. And let’s be real, a man like him needs someone just as powerful by his side, at least financially—something I can’t even begin to compete with.

Earlier tonight, before I practically jumped on him, we were all on Colt’s terrace. The conversation turned to Ethan and his relationship with Antonia.

I don’t need to explain how my chest constricted, how that strange, hollow ache spread through me. Jealousy? No. Definitely not jealousy. Right?

Sierra and Nick agreed that he and Antonia looked good together, that they’d make a strong couple if they were truly together.

Truly together?