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Her confession hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. I had suspected, but hearing her say it made it real. Made the weight of what we were about to do even heavier. Made me acutely aware of the responsibility I was taking on and the trust she was offering me.

This wasn’t just another night.

This was everything.

I crossed the room slowly, giving her time to change her mind, to tell me to stop. But she didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She just stood there looking out at the city as if she were memorizing it.

I stopped behind her, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching.

Not yet.

“We don’t have to do anything,” I said. “We can just talk. Or I can take you home. Or⁠—”

“I don’t want to talk.” She turned then, and the look in her eyes nearly brought me to my knees. Want, fear, and determination all mixed together. “And I don’t want to go home. I want this. I want you.”

“Madigan.”

“I’ve spent my whole life being careful. Being good. Doing what I was told. Taking up as little space as possible.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “But tonight, I want to be selfish. I want to choose something for myself. I want to choose you.”

I reached up slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, and cupped her face in my hands. Her skin was soft, warm, and I could feel her trembling.

“You’re sure?” I asked, searching her eyes.

“I’m terrified,” she whispered. “But yes. I’m sure.”

I leaned down and kissed her.

The first touch of her lips against mine was like touching a live wire. Soft and warm and impossibly sweet, and the taste of her, wine and something darker, something uniquely her, flooded my senses and made my head spin. Her lips, full and pliant, yielded under mine, and when I traced the seam of her lips with my tongue, she opened for me with a small gasp that I felt all the way down to my bones.

I deepened the kiss, angling her head back with my hands still cradling her face, and tasted her properly. The inside of her mouth was hot and wet and perfect, and when my tongue slid against hers, she made a sound, half moan, half whimper, that shot straight through me and made my cock harden instantly.

Christ. I was already hard just from kissing her.

Just from the taste of her mouth and the feel of her lips moving against mine.

She kissed me back tentatively at first, uncertain, and I could feel her learning, the way her tongue hesitantly met mine, the way she adjusted the angle of her head, the way her lips moved and pressed and parted. Every small discovery she made, every tiny adjustment, was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced. I was teaching her how to kiss me, and she was a quick study, growing bolder with each passing second.

Her hands came up to grip my shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of my jacket, and I could feel the tremor in them. Could feel how badly she wanted this, even though she was afraid of it.

I had kissed women before. Had sex before.

But this—this was different.

This mattered. This was Madigan, and she was choosing me, and the taste of her mouth was destroying every defense I had ever built. I wanted to devour her. Wanted to consume her. Wanted to kiss her until neither of us could breathe, until we forgot our own names, until the only thing that existed was her mouth on mine, her taste on my tongue, and the soft sounds she made that were driving me absolutely insane.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt. My hands shook where they held her face. And when she sucked gently on my lower lip, tentative, experimental, I groaned into her mouth and felt my control slip another notch.

She completely destroyed me—by the sweetness of her mouth and the way she was kissing me back like I was oxygen and she was drowning. I walked her backward slowly until her back hit the window. The glass was cool against her skin, and she gasped at the contact. I took advantage of her parted lips and tasted her deeper as she melted against me.

My hands found her waist and slid up her sides, feeling the curve of her through the thin fabric of her dress. She was perfect. Every line, every curve, every inch of her was perfect, and I wanted to memorize all of it.

“Salvatore,” she breathed against my mouth, and hearing my name in her voice like that, breathy and desperate and full of need, nearly broke me.

“Tell me what you want,” I said, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her lips, swollen from my kisses, eyes dark with desire, were the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know what to ask for.”

“Then let me show you.” I kissed her again, softer this time, tender. “Let me take care of you.”