I reached up, lacing my hands behind his neck, braced for him to tense. Instead, he closed his eyes, relaxing and leaning into my hands. I moved closer, my body brushing his, fingers moving up into his hair. He exhaled, the barest sigh. I could feel the tension strumming through him, and when his mouth lowered to mine, it moved carefully, restrained. But as soon as we touched, the restraints snapped, and he pulled me hard against him, his mouth coming down rough and urgent. Then he pulled back abruptly, holding me at arm’s length. “I didn’t mean—” he began.

I took a half step closer. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m out of sorts and—”

“And that’s fine,” I said. “So am I.”

I kissed him, pouring all my own frustration into it. And that really did snap off those restraints, and hell, oh, hell. Five seconds later, I was halfway over the back of the sofa, my legs around him, hearing the sound of a shirt ripping and not knowing whose it was and not really giving a damn. Then I was against the wall, his hands pinning my arms, kissing me hard enough that I tasted blood. He must have, too, and he stopped, blinking.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, letting me go so fast I started falling to the floor before he caught me.

“It’s okay.”

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t mean to hurt—”

“Gabriel?” I wrapped my hand in the front of his shirt. “I’m a big girl. I can tell you to stop, and I know you will. If you think I’m giving any indication that I want you to slow down?” I yanked him closer. “Then you are really lousy at reading the signs.”

He let out a strained chuckle.

“You’re angry. You’re frustrated. Let’s work on that.” I pulled him closer and leaned into his ear. “If this is any indication of how you’d like to work on that, I am one hundred percent in.”

He shivered against me.

I moved my mouth to his lip and nipped. “Pretty sure I can give as good as I get,” I said. “And the same warning goes for you—if it’s too much, say so. Is it too much?”

He answered by backing me against the wall hard enough to rattle the door. Then I was straddling him, pinned to the wall, his mouth crushing mine, and when his shirt came off, I suspected it wasn’t going back on without some serious mending.

If asked before now whether I’d had rough sex, I’d have said yes. What I’d had, though, had been enthusiastic sex. In-too-big-a-hurry-to-be-gentle sex. There’d been some experimentation with BDSM, but very mild, because while I was intellectually curious, once I actually experimented, it didn’t hold the appeal I expected.