“I’ve been knowing,” Adair growled against her neck, teeth grazing her skin. “You think I ain’t been ready for this? For you?”
Her laugh caught in her throat as he pushed her back against the wall, his hand sliding up her thigh beneath the pink dress—the dress—gripping flesh.
“Say it,” she whispered, breath hitching again. “Say you missed me.”
“I fucking missed you,” he rasped. “Every day. Every night. Every time I woke up alone. Every time I couldn’t call you. Every time I looked at another woman and hated her for not being you.”
She moaned into his mouth because it was too much. All of it.
And not enough.
Her hands were under his shirt, dragging it up and over his head with zero finesse. It hit the floor. He didn’t stop moving. Didn’t stop kissing her. He hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. She gasped when her back hit the wall again, but it wasn’t pain, it was pressure. It was control. It washim.
And he felt so damn good.
“Bedroom—” she tried to say, but his tongue was already sliding down the column of her throat. “Adair?—”
“You wanna wait?” he asked, low and wild, grinding into her until his erection was hurting them both.
“No,” she panted. “No waiting.”
“Good.”
Because he was already walking, still holding her, one hand gripping the back of her thigh, the other wrapped around her lower back. They crashed through the bedroom door and landed on the bed in a tangled, heated heap. The dress came off in one violent tug, ripped clean down the side. Her shoes were gone, her curls a halo of chaos around her head. He stared down at her, breathless.
“Look at you,” he whispered, marveling at her beautiful, brown, curvy baby making body. “Still the baddest most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Then act like it,” she dared, sexily twirling around on all fours making her ass cheeks clap.
“Fuck.” Adair had the strength to rip his leather belt after watching her do that. He hadn’t seen this side of her in so long. Even the couple times they’d reconnected physically she still held back but not now. This was his freak in the sheets he loved so much.
After discarding the rest of his clothes, Adair crawled on the bed behind his small stallion, kissing up the skin of her asscheeks, back, spine, shoulders, neck, gripping her curls in a fist, yanking her head.
“Tell me it’s still mine,” he said against her ear before licking the lobe. “Tell me this pussy still remember me.”
“Why don’t you remind it?” she tested.
And he did—he pushed inside in one stroke.
With no mercy.
With no time for pretty.
With nothing but love disguised as dominance. There were no soft touches now. Just sweat, teeth, and need.
“You still so goddamn perfect,” he growled into her neck. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he rasped, while railing her with passionate violence.
Sabine gripped the sheets, trying to stay tethered but she was already gone. Lost in the pace, the pressure, the rawness.
“Say it,” he demanded, slamming into her deeper. “Say it’s still me.”
“It’s you,” she sobbed. “It’s always been you.”
That broke him.
It broke him deeply. His rhythm stuttered—then stopped altogether. Adair collapsed against her back, forehead buried between her shoulder blades, arms shaking, breath catching.
Sabine could feel it.