Every day for the rest of my life if given the chance.
“Let me show you the destruction you’ve caused.” I palm her cheek, my control slipping for the briefest second as her lashes flutter.
Then she mewls. Soft. Feminine. A sound of surrender so profoundly yielding it infiltrates the deepest, darkest parts of me and rattles loose the possessiveness I’ve kept leashed.
I lose control and slam my mouth down on hers.
Her lips are warm. The kiss frantic. Desperate.
A collision of hunger and heat.
It’s obscene how quickly she melts—how friction becomes fusion—the outside world disappearing as the elevator doors close.
Her mouth wars with mine, the slick slide of her tongue a chaotic dance of urgency. Of starvation.
The elevator begins its descent, sparking something even more feral between us.
She grips my lapels with both hands, fingers digging in like thorns. And her body—fuck—it moves from the wall to press into me. Hips rolling. Intensity soaring.
The friction tears a groan from my chest.
Christ.
I’m so fucking hard for her it’s agonizing.
I slide a hand down her side, over the curve of her waist to her thigh. She welcomes the touch, her leg lifting, wrapping around my hip without hesitation.
I’ve dreamt about this. Woken hard and aching, my body betraying me for weeks, months, fuckingyears. And still, the kiss doesn’t end. Our mouths continue to claim, devour, take as I find the slit in her dress, my fingers delving beneath to indulge in the smooth skin of her leg.
She shudders, yanking me closer, demanding more with a tiny, meteoric whimper.
I become lost. In sensation. In everything that’s Isla. There’s only her and the damage she inflicts.
I slide my hand higher, along the back of her thigh, and palm her delectable ass, the brief brush against the resistance of her panties making my cock twitch.
“Tell me you want more,” I demand against her lips. “Tell me I can touch you.”
“Touch me.” Her submission is instantaneous. A glimpse of heaven in broken syllables and weathered tone.
I delve deeper, breaching the restriction of her panties, my fingertips gliding over slick, warm heat.
Sweet fucking mercy.
She’s wet for me.
Drenched and trembling.
“Merda.” My balls tighten, my shaft aching with an insurgence of blood flow. I’m forced to break the kiss. To take a beat. To inch back and breathe through the lust in an attempt to stop myself spilling in my fucking pants.
“More,” she whispers. Begs. “Please.”
I grind my teeth. Tense every muscle.
I’ll never deny her. Not again.
“Ho combattuto abbastanza a lungo, amore mio,” I beseech. “Sei la mia rovina. La accetto, volontariamente.”
“Tell me.” She arches her neck, lengthening it like an offering.