His hands land on the wall beside my head. With such a small height difference between us, it takes no effort at all to shift my weight and settle the apex of my thighs against the hard ridge behind his zipper. I’d felt him when we danced. Enough to know that he’s packing behind those tailored slacks. Enough to know that I’ll feel the sting of being well-used for days afterward.

It still wasn’t nearly enough to prepare me for this. We’re surrounded by bare trees decorated in white lights, caught in their glow. He’s found a rare blank stretch of wall.

Stars burst behind my eyelids and I feed a helpless moan into his mouth. He devours it with a deep, possessive groan.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

Lowering one hand to my thigh, he gathers black velvet in his fist.

Cool air touches my shin. A second later, it kisses my bare knee like a whisper of a promise. And then I feel pressure on my clit—not his fingers but the length of his muscled thigh, right there where I need him most.

“Use me.” The command is torn from his throat, guttural and raw. “Grind down on me and show me that you’re fucking fearless.”

We’re completely exposed to anyone who might leave the ballroom.

I open my mouth to protest—to give some pathetic, paltry excuse for why we really, really shouldn’t—only for it to register that this is exactly what he wants. Letting him have me right here is a proverbial middle finger to every guest within that ballroom who sneered in my direction and refused to show me even a little bit of kindness. It’s him giving me total ownership of my body, my pleasure, and returning to me the very same power that’s been stripped from my soul and kicked and beaten into the ground.

He knows me. Understands me.

It’s my last rational thought before I demand, “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

His fingers sink into my hair and his lips return to mine with feverish abandon. His kiss takes and it consumes, leaving me weightless and panting. Sparks ignite like lit tinder in my belly. Needing more, I burrow my hands in his shirt, loop my thigh around his waist, and yank him impossibly close. We align, core to cock, and he doesn’t utter a single complaint. He can’t, not when I’m obeying a direct order.

I grind down on him.

Slow.

Purposeful.

A smooth, teasing rhythm that has him cursing under his breath. “You gonna make me come just like this, sweetheart? Like I’m some desperate, fumbling teenager begging for his first taste of pussy?”