Eliana's back pressed into the wall, the straps of her dress hanging loose, Nicky's mouth unrelenting on her skin.
Her hands trembled with rage and want, torn between shoving him away and dragging him closer. Every kiss felt like punishment, every bite a reminder of his claim.
Her mind screamed at him: talk to me, listen to me, see me.
But her body betrayed her, pulling him closer, answering his fury with her own. His grip on her waist was bruising, his breath hot against her throat as if he wanted to devour her whole.
He did not whisper love. He whispered nothing, only pressing his mouth harder, forcing her to feel his anger in the rhythm of his touch. She knew what it meant: You are mine whether you want me or not.
She shoved him back suddenly, breaking the kiss. His eyes flashed with shock, but she was not stopping—she was fighting for control.
They stumbled through the room, crashing into furniture, mouths colliding again and again as if silence itself would shatter them.
