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He circles it with ruthless precision, rubbing tight, fast, until my whole body tightens, my hips rolling up to meet him, needing, pleading, lost.

He kisses me then: deep, consuming, stealing every last breath. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting, conquering. I moan against him, my voice muffled by his lips, my body burning, breaking. The pleasure builds, hot and wild, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

He doesn’t let up. He pounds into me, harder now, the bed shuddering beneath us, his hand pinning my thigh high, spreading me wider. The stretch, the friction, the way he fills me so perfectly. It’s too much, too good. I’m shaking, the orgasm building, coiling, ready to snap.

“Please,” I whisper, desperate, lost. “Don’t stop. Please—”

He pulls back, eyes glittering, sweat slicking his brow. “Beg for it,” he commands, his thumb pressing harder on my clit, making me writhe.

I choke out a plea, shameless now, all pride burned away by the heat he’s poured into me. “Please, Adrian, let me come, please, I need it, I need you—”

He rewards me with a savage thrust, his hips snapping into mine, the pressure at my clit blinding. “Come for me,” he growls, his mouth at my ear. “Now.”

I shatter. The orgasm rips through me, white-hot and consuming, my whole body going rigid, toes curling, fingers digging into his back. I cry out, his name torn from my throat, the world narrowing to nothing but the pleasure he wrings from me.

He doesn’t slow, fucking me through it, relentless, driving me higher. I feel another orgasm building, the aftershocks merging into a new wave of pleasure, making my vision blur, mybody quake. He fucks me until I’m sobbing, begging, babbling nonsense into his shoulder, and still he doesn’t let me go.

He pulls out only long enough to flip me onto my stomach, dragging my hips up, spreading me open. I whimper, needy, aching, as he slides back inside me, deeper this time, hitting something so good I nearly sob again. He bends over me, his chest pressed to my back, hand in my hair, his voice rough at my ear.

“You’re going to come for me again, Talia. I want to feel you milk my cock while I fill you. Do you understand?”

I can only nod, breathless, my body burning, the sensation overwhelming. He pounds into me, his grip bruising, his words filthy, praise and possession tangled together. “So fucking tight,” he groans, “so wet, so perfect. You were made for this. Made for me.”

He reaches around, finding my clit again, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. It’s too much, too good, the pleasure crashing over me again, sharper than before. I cry out, helpless, as I come for him, my body pulsing, milking him just like he wanted.

He follows with a guttural curse, thrusting deep, holding me tight as he empties inside me. I feel the heat of him, the way he shudders, the sound of his pleasure breaking through all his restraint. He presses his face into my hair, breath ragged, heart pounding against my back.

We collapse together, tangled in the sheets, sweat-slicked and shaking. I feel him soften inside me, his arms still holding me tight, as if he’s afraid I might vanish if he lets go.

I can’t move, can barely breathe. I don’t want to move. I want to feel this forever: his weight, his heat, the sense of being claimed, marked, owned.

He kisses my shoulder, then my neck, softer now. His hands stroke down my sides, gentling, soothing. I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the aftermath, the ache between my legs a delicious, constant reminder of what he’s done to me.

I don’t speak. Neither does he. The silence between us is full of everything we can’t say—need, regret, longing, fear. I listen to the sound of his breathing, the steady drum of his heart, the way his hands never stop moving over my skin.

When I finally turn to face him, his eyes are on me, unreadable, intense. He brushes my hair from my face, traces my jaw with his thumb, and leans in to kiss me again.

For a moment, I let myself believe in this. In the heat, in the hunger, in the way his body fits mine so perfectly. For a moment, I let myself forget everything else.

Then I remember who we are. What we’ve done, what we’ll have to do. I lie there, sore and spent, letting him hold me, knowing that as soon as the world comes back in, nothing will ever be this simple again.

We stay tangled together for a long time, the quiet broken only by the slowing rhythm of our breath. My cheek rests against Adrian’s shoulder, my fingers tracing the sharp lines of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. I want to ask what comes next. I want to demand the truth.

I stay silent, letting the heaviness of what just happened settle around us.

His hand never leaves my body. Sometimes he strokes my thigh, sometimes he cups the back of my neck, thumb rubbing slow circles into my skin. The world outside his bedroom—outside this bed—feels far away, unreal.

I close my eyes and try to memorize every detail: the warmth of his skin, the rough stubble on his jaw, the possessive way he holds me even now.

I should feel victorious. I should feel triumphant for getting this close, for making him lose control. But all I feel is hollowed out, raw, shaky with aftershocks that have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with how much I want him. How much, in this moment, I want to let myself stay.

His lips brush my hair. He says nothing. I wonder if he’s trying to memorize this too, or if he’s already thinking of the next move, the next battle, the next secret to protect.

Eventually, I pull away, needing air, needing to anchor myself again. He lets me go, watching with those icy eyes that see too much.

I slip from the bed and gather the scattered dress and underwear, my hands trembling just enough that I hope he doesn’t see.

As I move toward the bathroom, I look back once. He’s propped on one elbow, sheets tangled around his waist, gaze heavy on me. For a moment, I wish he’d call me back. I wish he’d say anything to break the spell.