They didn't stop kissing.
No — this wasn't kissing anymore. This was two people trying to swallow each other whole. Teeth clashed, breaths tangled, mouths greedy and wet.
André's hands gripped her waist hard enough to make her gasp into his mouth, but she didn't pull back. She dug her nails into his shoulders like she was holding on for dear life.
He lifted her like she weighed nothing, her legs wrapping around his hips without her even thinking.
The kiss didn't break, not even when he started moving. She could feel the muscles of his body under her hands, feel the heat of him through her dress.
Her back pressed against a wall for a second as he adjusted his hold, then he carried her through the doorway into his private chambers.
They finally broke apart — only because their lungs were burning for air. Both of them were breathing hard, lips swollen and slick. Their eyes met for a moment, and there it was again — that look. Like neither of them could decide if they wanted to devour or destroy the other.
The room was bright. Light spilled over the large bed, the polished wood, the heavy curtains. But they didn't care about any of it.
They were on each other again instantly.
She clung to him, hands gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down into her. He lifted her again and set her down on the cool surface of the vanity table. The wood creaked softly under her weight.
Their mouths crashed together again, tongues tangling, breaths hot.
Then his lips left hers, trailing down to her jaw, her neck. He kissed, sucked, bit — not gentle, not sweet. It was possession.
Her fingers worked at the knot of his cravat, tugging until it came loose. Buttons popped open under her hands as she stripped his shirt away.
His bare chest was warm, hard, smooth under her palms. She slid her hands over his skin, nails grazing him.
He was already tugging at her dress, pulling it down off her shoulders. She didn't resist. The fabric slipped away, pooling at her waist, leaving her in her stays and thin underwear.
Their mouths found each other again for a brief, hungry moment, but then his lips moved lower — over her collarbone, down the top of her chest.
She shivered when his fingers found the laces of her stays and began pulling them loose. The garment loosened and fell away.
Her breasts spilled free, her nipples hard from the air and the heat of his mouth moving closer.
She let out a low moan when his lips closed over one. His tongue circled, his teeth grazed. He switched to the other, giving it the same attention while his hand squeezed and teased the first.
Her breath came faster, her head tilting back, her hands tangling in his hair.
And then his other hand slid lower. Over her belly, under the edge of her underwear.
His fingers found her already wet. He didn't hesitate. He slipped one inside her, slow just for a second — then another joined, curling, pressing just right.
Her whole body reacted, her thighs tightening around his hand, her breath hitching.
The pleasure hit quick and sharp, but she bit her lip to hold back the sound. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was affecting her.
He knew anyway.
A small, knowing smirk tugged at his mouth even as he kissed down her chest again.
She tried to focus on touching him back, her hands sliding down his stomach, tracing the line of muscle that disappeared into his trousers.
But every time his fingers curled just right inside her, her focus shattered.
He kept the pace slow at first, deliberately teasing her, then sped up just when she thought she could handle it.
Her nails dug into his shoulders again. She hated that she was already losing control.
Because this wasn't love. This wasn't even tenderness.
This was a game. A battle to see who would give in first.
And neither of them was planning to lose.