His mouth was fire.
The second Adrian's lips crushed against mine, the world narrowed to the rough scrape of his stubble, the taste of whiskey lingering on his tongue, the heavy weight of his body pressing me down into the mattress. My breath caught, stolen, as if he'd already claimed the very air in my lungs.
"Lyra…" His voice rasped, breaking between a groan and a prayer, as though saying my name cost him control.
The sheets twisted beneath us as his hand slid down my thigh, gripping hard, pulling me closer. My body betrayed me—arching, aching, begging. Every line I swore I wouldn't cross blurred into nothing under the heat of his touch.
When he entered me, it wasn't gentle. It was raw. A collision of need and hunger so sharp it bordered on pain, but I welcomed it. My nails dug into his back, dragging red trails across his skin as he moved inside me with a desperation that spoke louder than words.
"You'll ruin me," he growled against my ear, each thrust punctuated by the confession he'd never dare to voice in daylight.
"I already have," I gasped, clinging to him like he was both poison and cure.
The rhythm between us grew frantic, bodies colliding in a fevered pace that made the headboard slam against the wall. He buried his face in my neck, biting down, branding me, as though he could make me his despite the ring that tied him to another woman.
My cries filled the room, muffled against his shoulder, and he swallowed them like he was starving. The world fractured into heat, sweat, and the way his hands clutched me tighter the closer he got to breaking.
"Mine," he groaned, shuddering as he spilled into me, holding me so tightly it was as though letting go meant death.
I shattered with him, the pleasure ripping through me until I collapsed beneath his weight, trembling, breathless, undone.
For a moment—just a moment—the world was perfect. The lines of right and wrong didn't exist. There was only us, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, tethered in sin.
But perfection never lasts.
---
The first thing I felt was warmth.
Not the soft heat of sunlight streaming through the curtains, but the solid, consuming warmth of the man lying beside me.
Adrian.
His arm was draped over my waist, his body curved into mine as if guarding me even in sleep. My skin still tingled where his lips had been, my body sore in places that only made me remember how he had touched me, how he had whispered my name like it was both a blessing and a curse.
I should've felt shame. Fear. Anything but this bone-deep ache that wanted him all over again.
But reality doesn't care about what we want.
The sharp buzz of his phone shattered the silence. I froze, my pulse spiking. The name on the screen felt like a blade pressed to my throat.
Clara.
His fiancée.
The fragile cocoon we had spun around ourselves burst instantly. My chest tightened, guilt flooding every vein.
Adrian stirred, lashes fluttering open. His gaze found mine, softer for a heartbeat—then darkened when he saw the phone. His jaw clenched, and without hesitation, he silenced it.
"She's looking for you," I whispered, bitterness spilling out before I could stop it.
His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheek. "I don't want to talk about her. Not when you're here."
I pushed him away, clutching the sheet to my chest like it could protect me from the truth. "But she exists, Adrian. You can silence her calls, but you can't erase her. Or the fact that I—" My voice cracked. "That I just made the worst mistake of my life."
His grip tightened around my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were a storm, rough and trembling with a truth he didn't want to say out loud.
"Don't you dare call last night a mistake," he growled. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you."
Tears stung my eyes. My heart ached for him. For us. "Wanting me doesn't change the truth."
Silence stretched between us. Heavy. Suffocating.
Finally, he let me go. Raked a hand through his hair. Stood and reached for his shirt, his back rigid with conflict. "Get dressed. I'll have Luca drive you home."
Just like that, the walls slammed back up.
I sat there in the wreckage of our night, body still marked by him, heart bleeding with a truth I couldn't undo.
I had given myself to a man who belonged to someone else.
And worst of all—
I wanted him still.