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"No. Let go of me... Oh, God," she says as I push the bra aside and close my mouth over her nipple. She's sweet, and the sound that tears out of her throat undoes me. I work her jeans open, slide my hand into her underwear, and there it is. Confirmed. She's soaked. Pulling my hand free, I hold it up between us.

"See? Come and taste how much you don't want this." I push my fingers between her lips and she opens for me, so I press deeper until she gags. "That's my girl. You're such a liar, Manon."

"Hmmmffffffshhhh..." She's struggling to read me my rights, no doubt.

I take my fingers out of her mouth.

"Shut up, you're pathet..."

Gripping her face hard just to shut her up, I kiss her more until she's breathless. It takes us a moment, then I have to let go of her to deal with my pants. I shove them down, and fist my hand in her hair.

"Manon, look at me."

She avoids my gaze but I force her to look into my eyes.

"Good girl. Now listen to me. I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name. And when you stand at that altar today, it will be my cum running down your thighs. No one else's. Do you understand me?"

"Fuck you, Laszlo Novak," she spits into my face. God, this woman. She's tougher than steel. Traumatized about an almost-rape? She might be a little, but nothing takes her down. She's perfect for me.

How many years have I wasted? I should have married her years ago. Technically, I've been trying.

"Yeah, fuck me. With the Almighty's blessing, ma macabre," I say, and lay her down on the concrete.

She reaches for what's left of her shirt to tear it off and I catch her wrists and put them over her head.

"No. I'll do it."

"We don't have time for⁠—"

"We have exactly as much time as I say we have."

I've undressed a great many people in my life. Few of them were breathing, and none of them were her. So I take my time. The coat first, peeled off one arm then the other, and I fold it and set it aside because I can't help myself. What's left of the shirt next, already torn half off her, so I peel it from her shoulders and drop it, because there's nothing there worth saving. Her bra, one strap already gone, and I unhook the other side instead of tearing it, because I decide what gets ruined and when. Her jeans, worked down her hips and legs and off over her feet. Her socks. Even her socks. She lies there on her back on the concrete in nothing but white lace, soaked through at the center, and she is watching me with her chin up like she's daring me to comment on the color.

White, for the wedding. I don't comment. I'm in the mood for a different conversation.

I hook my fingers into the lace and draw it down her legs. Slow enough that she makes a noise. Then I put my hands on her knees and spread her open for me. .

"You're sick, Novak."

"I can't deny it."

Charles's blood is still creeping toward the drain, and technically, we're in the way. It may reach us before we're done. I don't care, because I need to taste her. Seven long years of knowing so many details about her and never once this, and that ends now. I lower my head and inhale. The scent of her. I bury my nose in her folds for a moment, then flick my tongue over the swollen nub.

Jesus Christ.

I've imagined this so many times I thought I knew. I didn't know anything.

I lick the whole length of her. She's drenched, her thighs already trembling on either side of my head. I drag my tongue up to her clit and circle it, and her hips come off the concrete and I put my forearm across them and hold her down. She is not going anywhere. She is going to lie here and let me savour her.

"No, Laszlo, no," she whimpers, and her hands are in my hair, pulling me in, not away. I hear the no. Her body says yes. So I work her clit like a man possessed, flat of my tongue and then the point, and slide two fingers inside her and curl them. I feel her clench and her breathing change. I've never heard that sound from her that comes out of her mouth.

She's close.

I stop.

I take my mouth off her and my fingers out of her, then sit back on my heels and look at her, flushed and open on the concrete with her mouth hanging and her eyes wild, and I think this is the finest thing I've ever seen in my life.

"What are you doing?"