Bellamy eyes me nervously and bites her lip. “I wasn’t sure when the best time to tell you would be. I didn’t want you to think—well, maybe you already know.”

“All I know is that you’re not a terrorist.” I gather her in closer, if that’s even possible. “The Secret Service did a background check on you before the benefit gala. They obviously don’t release specific information, but I figure if you’d thrown up red flags, they’d have barred you from entering.”

“Hot.” Bellamy forces a smile. “That’s really hot.”

I lean down and kiss her, her lips soft and yielding beneath mine. When I pull back, she’s panting, her eyes glazed over. “Tell me about your mother.”

“That’s the thing.” Bellamy grabs my lapel in her fist and grips it tight, pulling me closer and closer, the distance between us closing, the air going right out of the room. “I don’t want to talk about my mother. I’m the one who brought it up, but now that you’re looking at me like that—”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to see you. Like I saw you in the green room, only…more.”

I trail a finger down the side of her neck and beneath her shirt. She’s changed into something so soft the fabric feels like it could rip with one twist of my nail. It drapes off one shoulder and I want to kiss that shoulder, the curve of her arm, the soft, creamy skin there, so I do. “You don’t hate me now. Not even a small part of you.”

Bellamy is arching toward me, the weight of her drawing closer while she tilts her head away, giving me more access to her neck. “You say that like you’re sure.”

“The way you respond to my touch, I’d bet anything that—” I dive my hand under her top. She’s not wearing a bra. She’s all warm skin and curves, and with my thumb and forefinger, I find one of her nipples, already standing at attention. All it takes is one squeeze, and Bellamy throws her head back against my arm. We’re sitting on the sofa, but I might as well be the one holding her off the floor. “No. You don’t hate me. You need me.”

She throws a hand over her eyes and struggles for breath. “A person can hate and want at the same time.”

“Some people—but not you.”

I circle her other nipple with my fingers. “You’re right.” She takes her hand away from her eyes. “God, you’re right.”

Bellamy tenses, the curved line of her body freezing. Jesus, it’s hot, the way she responds to every stroke, every brush of my fingertips, every movement I make. The connection between us is a palpable thing in my hands, heavy and electric, dangerous and sweet. I let her linger there, frozen, for the space of a few heartbeats before I put my hands on her waist. “Stand up.”

She stands, and I stand too. “Are we leaving?”

“You’re staying here.”

A shiver rocks her body and I feel it in my own. The pull to her is so strong that it’s almost impossible to walk away.

I do it anyway.

It takes less than a minute to gather what I need from the first master suite—mine—and adjust the lighting in the room. The fireplace across from the sofa springs to life with one swipe of a panel, and with the lights dimmed, Bellamy doesn’t look like a law student at a late-night study session. She looks like a goddess waiting to be claimed.

Like every goddess, she’s verging on defiant when she looks at me again, chin raised, eyes blazing. “This isn’t fair.”

“Why would you expect anything to be fair?” I move behind her and she turns her head to press her lips against mine. “All this has been deliciously unfair. To me.”

“To you? No, I’m pretty sure that—”

I cover her mouth with my hand and bend to speak directly into her ear. “You’re a fiery little thing, sweetness. You chase men out onto the street and ruin their lives, then act above it all. You withhold secrets—”

Her lips move against my palm and I give her an inch of space.

“What was that?”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Brutal honesty.”

“There will be time for talking later. Right now, it’s time to end this pointless torture.” I stroke my hand downward to where her legs meet. It’s like touching a live wire. She jerks back against me, her hand flying down to grip my belt. I let her keep it there until it has to come over her head. I lift her top up and over, and let the fabric fall to the carpet. Bellamy turns in my arms and I kneel on the floor, taking her pants—the same, soft weave—with me.

Her panties are all that are left.

I take her hips in my hands and pull her closer to me, my lips brushing against the black scrap of fabric, and Bellamy’s hands dig into my shoulders. I press a kiss to that same place and Bellamy trembles.

“Spread your legs.”

“Who says I take orders from you?” I can feel her nervousness through her hands, and when I look up into her eyes, it’s reflected there too.

Her legs are already spread enough for me to fit two fingers into that dark, secret place.

Her panties are already soaked.

“You can’t lie to me here, sweetness.”

Bellamy’s eyelashes flutter closed, the muscles all along her body tensing, and I drag my fingers against the damp, overheated fabric. It’s all that’s left between us. She grits her teeth. “Graham.”

“If you want me to stop, tell me now.”

Her eyes fly open. “I don’t want you to stop. I want you to fuck me before I lose my mind.”