My mouth met Ortega's. Not hard, not asking, but taking. Slow, deep, possessing. Her lips parted, tongue meeting mine with equal ferocity. A low growl vibrated in her chest.
Ortega's mouth was hot, fiercely responsive, but the tension in her jaw, the rigid set of her shoulders beneath my hands, screamed resistance. My thumbs continued their slow stroke along her jaw, not soothing, but mapping.
My eyes flared, highlighting the micro-tremors running through her thigh muscles where she knelt, the rapid pulse fluttering at the base of her throat, the clenched fists resting on her thighs. It wasn't fear; it was a fortress, walls thick with pride and control, desperately wanting to be breached but refusing to crumble.
"This isn't just taking, Ortega," I whispered against her lips, pulling back just enough to see the defiant fire in her dark eyes. "This is surrender. Let it go."
