He slipped out, then shoved in again. “I don’t wanna come in your mouth,” he said, words a hoarse plea colored by desperation. “I want inside you, your legs spread. I want you fucking begging for it.” But his control snapped, and he pistoned his cock down my throat, each downward thrust bringing him closer to the point of no return. My gag reflex kicked in again, fueling his fire.

Rafe became an uncaged animal, his reservations tossed to the side, all sense of guilt forgotten. He fucked my mouth with abandon. My heart raced behind my breastbone, and I pulled air through my nose, willing my throat to relax under the onslaught of his cock.

“Oh fuck…” He pulled out and yanked me to my feet, and his mouth crashed onto mine, his tongue conquering, dividing my lips and demanding entrance.

I severed the connection, inching back as my rapid breaths fanned across his mouth, and wondered if he liked the taste of himself on my lips. “You didn’t finish.”

“Your mouth is fucking amazing, but it’s not what I want.” He lifted me, urged my legs around his waist, and water rained over us as he pushed me against the wall again.

Then he slammed into me, plunging so deep he reached the center of my soul. I clawed his shoulders, and the wantonness inside me unraveled as he stretched me, filled me.

With his body, his spirit, his whole being.

“God, Rafe,” I said, lips teasing his earlobe. “You belong there. Don’t ever leave me.”

A moan caught in the back of his throat, and he fastened his mouth on mine again. He held me to the wall and sought control by seizing my wrists and raising them above my head. I tasted desperation on his tongue, and it zinged through my veins until I fought the band of his fingers.

I yanked my lips from his. “Let me touch you.”

He freed my wrists and wrapped both hands around my neck. The action stunned him. I saw self-disgust in his eyes but also the overwhelming need to take my breath. This wasn’t the gentle pressure of a few minutes ago, when he’d had his cock deep in my mouth. He wanted to choke me. I sensed it in the barely restrained energy emanating from his grip.

He hesitated, and I wondered which part of him would win the battle.

I fisted my hands and didn’t move, even though I ached to run them through his soaked hair. Slowly, he moved inside me again, his thrusts the speed of a crawl as he flexed his fingers. Memory or not, the need to take my air was embedded in him.

“You can’t break me,” I whispered.