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The friction of his stubble against my neck sent shivers through me, and I needed to feel him, skin on skin. I fumbled with the buttons, my fingers trembling, and he made a sound—a half-laugh, half-moan—that vibrated against my throat.

He shrugged out of the shirt with effortless grace, barely breaking our kiss. His hands slid under my dress, skating up the back of my thighs. I hooked my legs around his waist, clinging to his shoulders for balance. We were interlocked, every line, every angle fitting as if we’d been designed to snap together in this exact configuration.

He kissed me like a storm, his teeth catching my lower lip and biting just hard enough to sting, and when I gasped, he claimed the sound, swallowing it into himself. His palm slid up, finding the zipper at the small of my back, and he worked it down with agonizing patience, cool air licking over my bare skin.

He peeled the straps from my shoulders with aching tenderness, exposing one inch at a time. There was a hunger stare, but also a careful reverence, like he was witnessing a rare event and needed to commit every detail to memory.

The fabric slipped, heavy and soft, and it bunched around my hips before billowing to the floor, pooling at our feet. Suddenly I was standing before him in nothing but lace underwear, my nipples pebbling in the air. A low, guttural sound vibrated through Damon’s chest as he ran his palms up my sides, smoothing over the curve of my waist.

He dropped to his knees in front of me in one fluid motion, like some obscene form of worship. I heard myself whimper as he pressed kisses along my belly. His fingers curled around the waistband of my underwear, drawing it down my legs with agonizing slowness. I stepped out of them, and his hands parted my thighs, guiding me wider, exposing me completely.

I braced myself against the wall, my knees threatening to buckle, and he looked up at me, waiting for the smallest nod, the faintest sign of consent, before dipping his head and tasting me.

His tongue’s first delicate swipe sent a shudder up my legs, but it was analytical, almost cautious, cataloguing every subtle change in my breath and the way my thighs trembled around his head. He was reading me, constructing a map of my most vulnerable places, and each pass got bolder, more deliberate, as if the data he collected emboldened him to press deeper, lick slower, to suck with a measured intensity that left me panting and helpless.

My hands scrabbled for purchase in his hair, tugging without meaning to. My head thumped lightly against the wall as he found my spot, an electric nerve, that made me see fireworks behind my eyelids.

He held me steady, strong fingers digging crescents into my hips, and I could feel his jaw flexing against me, the stubble rasping my inner thighs in a way that made me want to both squirm away and pull him closer.

I looked down and watched him, his dark hair disheveled, jaw working with single-minded intent. His eyes flicked up, catching mine, and the filth in that gaze made my knees go weak. He smiled against my skin, as if proud of himself for unraveling me, and then redoubled his efforts, adding the relentless pressure of his fingers. The rhythm built and built, tension winding inside me until I thought I might snap from it.

He slid one thick finger inside me, slow at first, as if testing the fit, before curling it just so, and I lost all composure. The sensation shattered me, and I bucked against him, clutching at his hair, my thighs threatening to close around his head. He added a second finger, stretching me, and the pleasure of it sent a fresh surge of heat through my belly.

He was ruthless, alternating pressure and speed, his tongue and fingers working me open, coaxing me higher and higher. The orgasm hit with the force of a tidal wave, ripping through me. I convulsed, every muscle locking tight, and bit down on my own hand to muffle the scream. My vision dotted with black, the world narrowing to the place where his mouth met my flesh, and I rode the wave until there was nothing left but the aftershocks, echoing through my body like thunder. He kept going, gentle now, licking me through it, coaxing out every pulse and shudder until I slumped boneless against the wall, drained and trembling.

He pressed a final kiss to the inside of my thigh, lingering, and then rose gracefully. His hands braced on my hips like he was anchoring himself to me. I saw the faint gleam at the corner of his mouth, and before I could even process the image, he leaned in and kissed me again. He kissed me like he was starving, like my taste had become his only drug, and he needed another hit. I tasted myself on his tongue, sharp and carnal, and it only made me want him more.

I dug my fingers into the hard muscle of his arms and pulled him closer, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He groaned into my mouth, the sound so raw and unfiltered I felt it vibrate through my whole body. He was so hard it was almost obscene. My hands scrabbled at his waistband, clumsy with urgency. I fumbled with his belt, trembling with adrenaline as I popped the button and slid his zipper down with a single motion. We worked in tandem, pushing his pants down. He toed off his shoes, then kicked away the rest of his clothes with a graceful shuffle.

We were both naked now, every secret and scar and imperfection on display. He pinned me against the wall again, the hard line of his shaft pressing insistently against my thigh. We were skin-to-skin. My body vibrated, every inch of me alive to touch, and my breath came in wild little gasps.

His fingers laced through mine as he pinned my hands above my head, his lips searing a path down my throat, over my collarbone, to the hollow between my breasts. I moaned, the sound unrecognizable even to myself, and bucked against him, frantic for friction, for release, for whatever this was spiraling toward.

He paused, holding me there. His eyes met mine—dark and intense, searching—and for a heartbeat, the whole world went still. I could see the question in his gaze, his need for permission, for proof that this was what I wanted. I nodded, voice gone, and he released a shaky breath. Then he lifted me like I weighed nothing, and I wrapped my legs around his hips, locking my ankles behind his back.

He took himself in his hand and lined himself up. I was slick and already trembling as he pressed inside in one slow, deliberate thrust. The stretch was exquisite, almost too much after the relentless build-up. But I didn’t pull away. I needed him, all of him, needed to be filled and claimed. I clung to his shoulders, nails biting into the skin, and he buried his face in my neck, groaning my name.

He moved in me, driving deep, and every stroke sent aftershocks rippling through my oversensitized body. I could feel my own pulse everywhere—wrist, throat, clit, the backs of my knees—like my entire circulatory system had been rewired to respond only to him.

The wall was cold and unforgiving at my back, but I was grateful for the anchor, for the grounding sensation that kept me from floating right out of my skin. Each time he drove into me, I felt myself unravel a little more, piece by piece, until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.

The rest of the world ceased to exist, and I wanted to live in this moment forever. I wanted to stay right here, where nothing could hurt us and tomorrow didn't exist.

Because tomorrow meant facing everything I was afraid of.

But tonight?

Tonight, I let myself believe he was mine.

31

RESCUE CATS AND FIST FIGHTS

Damon

Ihad Mikayla up against the wall, her body pressed flush to mine, the faintest tremor running through her as my mouth collided with hers, desperate and unrelenting. The way she responded—fingernails digging into the small of my back, hips rolling up to meet every thrust—told me she needed this as badly as I did, and it nearly undid me. I tasted the salt of her skin, breathed in the floral sweetness of her shampoo, listened to her moan and gasp and whisper my name over and over into the hollow of my throat.

Our bodies slid together as every emotion I’d denied—fear, longing, the bone-deep certainty that I’d be ruined for anyone else—spilled out through my touch, my kiss, my urgency. There was no hesitation, no restraint, only need, primal and reckless.