Another scoop of chocolate.

This time, he inched closer, placing the container on the coffee table and grabbing my nape with his free hand. Holding me steady, he pressed the mousse to my mouth, breathing hard.

I opened for him.

He placed the dessert on my tongue.

I sucked the sweetness off.

He withdrew the spoon.

He didn’t give me a chance to swallow.

His fingers tightened around my neck, jerking me forward. I tumbled into him, my mouth opening in surprise, his lips smashing against mine with violence.

His tongue met mine, the chocolate thick and cloying and rife with memories of another chocolate kiss.

Nameless.

I’d been fighting for so long. Too long. I carried guilt too heavy. I wallowed in shame too great. Kissing Penn while my heart remained in the past with another chocolate kisser unraveled me.

The long day.

The angst, the worry, the unknown.

I snapped.

Throwing myself into his arms, I intensified the kiss until our teeth smashed and violence was the theme not desire.

He fought back, letting himself go.

His hands tore at my dress, finding the straps on my shoulders and shoving them down to imprison my arms while freeing my breasts.

Shoving me backward, he instantly smothered me with his body. “You want this? You want to fucking do this?”

I nodded, unhinged. “Yes, fuck me. Don’t hold back.”

“Jesus, I can't. I can’t hold back anymore.”

It was messy, sugar riddled, and full of things we needed to say, but we had no time or rationality left to talk.

Shoving my dress up, he found I wasn’t wearing underwear.

He lost the last shred of decency. “Fuck, Elle. Just—fuck.” He crushed me, his mouth suffocating mine, his taste becoming that of chocolate and sin. His fingers found my wetness. His body convulsed as he jammed his erection into my thigh.

I didn’t wait for instructions.

Grabbing his belt, I undid the loops, unzipped his fly, and sank my hand into his tight boxer-briefs to grasp his hot length.

His back turned rigid as he pressed into my palm.

Two fingers speared into me, filling me fast and hard.

I cried out.

He silenced me with yet another dangerous kiss.

His thumb landed on my clit, rubbing me in circles while his fingers rocked against my G-spot.

Everything locked tight. The quivering need built and built. The desire to snap my legs closed made me squirm beneath him.

“Condom. Back pocket,” he snarled, working me hard.

Somehow, I managed to slip my hand into his jeans and find the condom. I shattered between living in the brewing orgasm and forcing myself to remain sane enough to wrap him in latex so he could fuck me.

The thought of him replacing his fingers and just how incredibly good it would feel was the only thing that kept me coherent enough to rip open the packet, roll down the slippery protection, and sheath him.

He nipped my neck, shoving my hand away and wedging himself between my legs.

“You don’t get to run from this. Not again.” He thrust.

He didn’t line up or take me gently.

One moment, we were two people.

The next, we were one.

My body screamed as he split me in half.

Then sobbed as the orgasm he’d conjured turned into something with serrated blades for teeth and sharp, sharp bliss.

“Look at me.” He drove into me again. “Look at me if you’re going to come.”

The tightening hurried inside me. His hips pumped into mine, our clothing forgotten in our rush to join.

My gaze locked with his, imprisoned for eternity by the fierce triumph, the epic guilt, the tangled lies he webbed.

I was no longer a shy virgin. I was no longer a meek woman. I was past any shame I might endure by letting go and living entirely in this moment. “Fuck me. Please.”

“Come. Then I will.”

How had he completely possessed me? How was it he’d claimed me so I would do anything he asked, be anything he wanted?”

Pleasure built into a supernova, roaring, pulsing, demanding to pulverize into stars.

He thrust again, anger painting his face. “Give in, Elle. You’re mine.” His hips kept punishing, adding punctuation to his eroticism. “You know it. I fucking know it. So let me fucking claim you.”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t let him see that I wanted to let go. That all my life of business wheeling and dealing was nothing compared to what this felt like. But I didn’t trust him. And trust was too big a problem to ignore.

I could never just listen and not question. I’d never be able to fully let go, open up, and stop searching for his secrets.

But that conclusion could be shared after.

Right now, I would obey because it meant we’d both find mutual happiness if only for a few orgasmic seconds.

Then...I would show him the door.

For good.

His hips drove into me. “Stop thinking. Let me inside you.”

I took it figuratively, opening my legs wider.

His primal growl echoed in my chest as I gave into him. I went supple, submitting entirely. He angled himself higher, somehow swooping upright, hoisting me into his arms while still filling me deep.

Sitting on his knees on the couch, he cradled me in his arms while my legs draped either side of him. His fingers became white-knuckled as they locked around my hips, keeping me wedged as far down his cock as he could.

His head fell forward as he watched us fucking. Slowing, his cock pulsed inside me, dragging out the pleasure to agonizing joy.