My underwear is knuckled aside. Like he’s giving me the chance to tell him no, he holds himself perfectly still even as his gaze remains fierce on mine. I drag in fractured breath after fractured breath. We’re chasing something here—together—and if sanity had even half a chance of prevailing right now, I would back away before I get irreversibly hurt. He knows me, and I . . . I—

The pad of his middle finger touches my bare clit.

We moan together.

The velvet cord around my neck tightens under his grip, and one glance at his beautifully harsh expression is the only reminder I need that I’m meant to stay silent. My lips burn from his kiss and my heart pounds frantically against my rib cage. I clutch his suit jacket like I’m seconds away from crawling into the safety of his arms. Instead, I bite down against a pleasure-drenched cry when he drags his finger through my folds.

I’m so wet.

So turned on.

“Look at me, Laela,” comes his velvet-soft order. “See me.”

I fear that I do.

Worse, I fear that I’ll never be able to forget him—the arrogance that brightens his cognac eyes to brilliant gold, the impatience that flares his nostrils, and the need that seems to forever harden his jaw. I see him. All of him. A disheveled brown strand falls over his temple, temping me to reach up and tug on the lock. Before I can, he thrusts a finger deep within me.

And, just like that, I’m lost.

Ruined.

He holds me by the throat, velvet choker in hand and bells tinkling against his palm, and fucks me with single-minded precision. Deprived of air, unable to scream, I’m caught somewhere between heaven and hell with no hope of survival.

“Take what you need,” he grunts, hovering his lips over mine. “I’m yours.”

The gentle glide of his thumb over my clit is all the encouragement I need.

I rock against him and force him to swallow my cries with his mouth when he slicks a second finger inside me. They curl against my front wall, scissoring and stretching me, even while his thumb continues its sensual assault on my swollen bud. I’m boneless in his arms. Gripping his suit jacket, I allow my hips to circle and drop and follow each and every drive of his teasing fingers.

Oh, God.

Oh—

“Come on me, sweetheart. Let go and come.”

I meet his stare.

Those eyes are all that tethers me to this moment. Pleasure explodes within me, and my hips jerk over his hand in a discordant rhythm. He doesn’t let me go, though. He forces me to ride out wave after wave, gentling the strokes of his fingers until I’m swaying limply in his arms. Dimly, I hear a gasp from down the hall but I’m too far gone to care.