The journey was fast and silent, a ten-minute drive thick with tension. The air between them swelled like ripe fruit: ready to burst, lush and gleaming—but beneath the sweet anticipation, the threat of something rotten. Something too far gone.

The rotten thing was Cherry’s growing anxiety. As they pulled into the square of tarmac that served as her little flat’s carpark, her arousal deflated like a balloon.

She parked up and dropped her keys into her lap, staring straight ahead. Right at the bare brick wall of her little building. She probably looked like a zombie. Didn’t matter. She was thinking.

Ruben sat beside her in silence. Maybe he was waiting patiently, maybe he was freaked the fuck out, or maybe he’d been abducted by aliens while she was trapped in an internal battle. She didn’t know and she didn’t care.

Was she really doing this?

The first voice in her head was, unsurprisingly, Rose’s. Not an imagined response, but a memory of the words she’d said when Cherry casually mentioned that she’d be seeing Ruben again—that very night. Don’t do anything silly, darling.

Bringing an almost-stranger to her flat meant that she was already doing something silly. That was a bad sign, and Cherry was self-aware enough to know it. Men who were delicious enough to make you lose your head should be imbibed sensibly. Like rosé or Lemsip. She was not imbibing sensibly.

The next voice in her head, her mother’s, agreed. It screeched, Are you trying to kill me, child? Or are you trying to kill yourself? And then, because Dad was never far from Mum, she heard his voice too: Be sensible, Cherry Pie.

But the last voice was her little sister’s. She knew exactly what Maggie would say right now.

Get yours, sis.

Her lips quirked. Maggie would already have him inside.

Of course, she didn’t have to invite him in at all. He’d asked to take her out. She was the one who’d brought him here—all because something about the tone of his voice and the look in his eye and the way that he touched her made Cherry think he might…

She pressed her lips together. Then she turned to face him.

He hadn’t been abducted by aliens; he was right there, where she’d left him, waiting patiently. The way he dominated the little space put her in mind of a caged beast, but his eyes, for once, were soft.

“You okay?” He asked.

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“Do you want me to wait here?”

“No.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Four words. His voice was as soft as his eyes. He was all folded up into the tiny car’s front seat, his long legs bent, his powerful thighs straining at his suit trousers, and… oh.

Something else strained at his suit trousers, too, hard and thick. She let her eyes rest on his erection for a second before looking back up at him. He met her gaze easily, making no move to hide his arousal, and Cherry’s nerves disappeared. Anticipation was a red-hot weight in her chest, and desire thrummed through her pulse.

He raised a hand and grasped the back of her neck, pushing her hair aside. The warm weight of his palm rested against her skin, and then he leant over the centre console towards her. His forehead bumped gently against hers.

“You have to tell me,” he whispered. “Yes or no. Can I kiss you?”

And she sounded embarrassingly breathless when she said, “Yes.”

He barely let her finish the word. In a heartbeat, his lips were on hers, soft and gentle. So, so gentle. But that hand on her neck was was big and rough and demanding. His fingers sank into her hair, tightening slightly around the roots, and he pulled her head back, just a little. Just enough to make it clear that he was in charge. And still, his lips brushed against hers like a ghost’s. She shivered at the contrast. She wanted more. Much more.

As if he’d read her mind, he gave it to her. His tongue slid out to trace its way across her lower lip, and then he groaned softly into her mouth, as if he liked the taste—oh, yes, he liked the taste, because now he was sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, each pull tugging at her tightening nipples, at her suddenly-sensitive clit. Cherry squeezed her thighs together, shifting in her seat, chasing the pressure she needed to relieve that delicious ache between her legs.

He broke the kiss and pulled her head right back, exposing her throat. She wanted to whimper at the loss of his mouth, but his expression made her swallow the protest.

He looked… hungry.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped. His breathing was loud in the quiet space, laboured. “You have to tell me.”

“I… This,” she whispered. “I like this.” Understatement.

The hand in her hair tightened. He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her throat—then turned it, at the last minute, into a bite. Just firm enough to make her moan beneath, to make her breath catch in her chest.

He pulled back. “Like that?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “That. Anything you want.”

One side of his mouth kicked up into a smirk. “Careful, love. You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

She met his eye. “I think I do, actually. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

He muttered something under his breath. It sounded a lot like Fuck. Then he said, “Get out of the car.”

She’d thought she was wet already. But at the command in his voice, desire pooled hot and sticky between her thighs.

Oh, dear.

* * *

Ruben had lost his head.

The minute he noticed his security detail wasn’t following them out of the car park—and decided to do nothing about that fact—he knew he was losing it. They probably hadn’t noticed him leaving, since he’d gone firmly against protocol and disappeared in someone else’s car, but he should’ve stopped then. Only he hadn’t, because touching Cherry felt more urgent than fucking protocol.

It felt more urgent than anything he’d ever done.

She led him across the car park through a little alleyway, their hands intertwined. “Shortcut,” she said, tugging him along. Her heels clicked sharply against the concrete. She was rushing. She was precisely as desperate as he was, and the knowledge made him harder than ever.

The winter sun was low over the horizon, the sky was a clouded bruise, and the streetlights snapped on around them. In the walkway between two apartment blocks, light faded and shadows grew tall. Cherry’s hips swayed in front of him, her hand tight around his, and the memories of her gasping little cries teased at his mind.

Ruben stopped walking.

She turned to face him, a furrow appearing between her brows. “What?”

Without a word, he pulled her closer. When she came towards him with a smile curving her lips, he wanted to roar in triumph. Even the slightest acquiescence from this woman felt like a prize. He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her into him, against him, her softness a balm to the ragged edge of his lust. But it wasn’t enough.

Ruben backed her into the wall beside them, covering her body with his own. He captured both her wrists in one hand, bringing them up over her head, his grip firm. His eyes on hers. Searching for something indefinable.

He found it.

She arched into him and said, “Hurry up.” So he kissed her, because he fucking had to.

He felt like he was on the edge of control, like something savage, but when their lips met his desperation calmed. He licked his way into her mouth, revelling in her taste. He must be covered in her damned lipstick by now. He liked that idea. Let her mark him.

He traced a thumb along the line of her jaw, her skin velvety.

“Makeup,” she muttered against his lips, pulling away—but he tightened his grip.

“If you don’t want to mess up your makeup,” he said softly, “you’ve brought the wrong guy home.”

“I don’t want you to get it on your clothes.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “They’ll be gone soon, anyway.”

“God, you’re so fucking…” Apparently, she had no idea what he was, because with an adorable little growl she reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his and she sighed, arching into him, pressing her hips against his erection.

Fuck. He sucked on her plump bottom lip, imagined doing the same to the tits currently pressed against his chest—and then she released a whimper and wrapped a leg around his waist.

Ruben felt like he was drowning. Like every movement was slower and harder than it should be, than it needed to be, and he was desperate for things to speed up. He grabbed her thigh with his spare hand, pulled her leg higher, then shoved up the thick fabric of her coat because it was only getting in the fucking way. Next he shoved up her skirt, and then his fingers came into contact with the softness of her stockings. But even that wasn’t enough.

He plundered her mouth even as his hands crept higher, searching out heaven. Searching out her skin. Finally, he found it, soft and almost vulnerable. He snapped the elastic of her suspenders and dragged himself away from her lips.“You weren’t kidding about the stockings.”

She blinked at him, looking deliciously dazed. Her lipstick was indeed a mess. But she recovered in an instant, her eyes flashing as she smiled. “A figure like mine requires the proper foundation.”

“Oh it does, hm?” He bit his lip, hoping the sharp edge of pain would control the flare of his arousal. It didn’t. “Jesus. I wish I could fuck you right here.”

“You know what they say about following your dreams.”

He exhaled, clinging to the last of his control, feeling his grip slip. “You love to push, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She tilted her chin up as if she were the one in charge. Like his hand wasn’t binding her wrists right now. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no.” His fingers abandoned her suspenders and travelled higher—just not high enough.

“So…” she breathed, the word shimmering in the air between them, white-hot.

“So don’t stop,” he repeated, and then his hand found the satin edge of her underwear, traced it until she moaned. “Push.”

Their eyes met, and he saw his own need reflected in the shadows. He knew, in that second, that he would do anything she asked.

Then he heard the footsteps, fast and heavy, splashing through the alley’s puddles.

And then he heard his worst fucking nightmare. “Your Highness!”

That voice didn’t belong to Hans.