The air between us was molten, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. His breath mingled with mine, his grip unrelenting as if the moment he let go, I would vanish.
"Adrian…" My voice was barely a whisper. "Tell me to stop, and I will."
His eyes burned into me, dark as midnight, but softer than I'd ever seen them. "Stop?" His lips curved in something sharp, almost cruel, but his voice betrayed him—hoarse, aching. "I've been trying to stop since the day you walked into my house."
The world tilted when he carried me across the room, his strides purposeful. He set me down on the bed, looming over me, his shadow swallowing the pale light. For a moment, he didn't touch me. He just looked—like he was memorizing, branding me into his memory.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" His voice cracked with restraint. His hand hovered above my cheek before brushing across it, feather-light, as if afraid I'd break.
My heart thundered so hard it hurt. "Maybe the same thing you do to me."
That broke him.
His lips crashed onto mine, hard and searing, his body pressing me down into the sheets. His hands roamed, not greedy but reverent, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to worship me or ruin me.
Every kiss, every touch pulled me deeper into him. The way he whispered my name against my skin. The way his teeth grazed my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. The way he cursed under his breath, like losing control terrified him as much as it thrilled him.
When he finally pulled back, breathless, his forehead pressed to mine. "I shouldn't touch you like this," he murmured. "But I can't stop. Not tonight."
"Then don't stop," I whispered, my fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer.
His answer was a groan, guttural and raw, as his mouth found mine again.
Clothes became a blur between desperate hands and fevered kisses. Every barrier between us stripped away until nothing was left but skin and fire. He was everywhere—his touch searing, his lips trailing down my body like a storm.
When he finally entered me, the world ceased to exist. There was only him—Adrian—his body, his heat, his whispered curses and ragged breaths. The raw intensity in his eyes made my chest ache. This wasn't just lust. This was a man tearing down walls he'd built his entire life.
And as we moved together, tangled in sheets and fire, I knew I wasn't just crossing a line.
I was falling.
Dangerously. Irrevocably.
For the man I was never supposed to love.
His lips traced fire along my throat, each kiss unraveling the defenses I had spent so long building. My hands clutched at his shoulders, not in protest, but in surrender.
"Adrian…" My voice trembled, part warning, part plea.
"Say it again," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "Say my name like that."
The world outside his penthouse ceased to exist. It was just us, the city lights flickering like distant stars beyond the glass, while inside, my body burned under his touch. His hands slid lower, claiming, demanding, until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything except give in.
I had never known want could feel like this—sharp, consuming, like falling into fire willingly. Every kiss was rough and desperate, yet every caress lingered as if he feared I might vanish if he let go.
When he finally pressed me down into the sheets, his weight heavy, his eyes locked on mine, there was a moment of silence. No words, just his gaze, dark and unguarded, searching me as if for permission.
I gave it with a single nod.
And then there was no turning back.
His mouth claimed mine in a kiss that was less kiss, more conquest. His hands roamed, mapping every inch of me like he was memorizing it. I gasped, I ached, I begged without realizing I was begging. He moved with a hunger that matched my own, and yet, beneath it, there was something tender. Something terrifying.
Because this wasn't just lust. It was something deeper, something neither of us dared name.
Time blurred. My cries mingled with his groans, filling the room, echoing back from the glass walls until it felt like the city itself was a witness to our undoing.
When it was over, I collapsed against him, my chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. His arm wrapped around me, his lips brushing my hair as if to soothe what he had just ignited.
But even in his embrace, reality slithered back in.
He wasn't mine.
I wasn't supposed to want him.
And yet, as his hand tightened around me, as if he refused to let go even in sleep, I knew one thing with frightening clarity—
I was already his.