I turned hot. Dizzy. Achy.

Part fear, part pain, part something else that left me raw and trembly and very, very hungry.

My fingers squirmed beneath his, trying to get free. The knife thrummed between us, a conduit for all our desire.

“Stop,” I whispered, needing air, needing my heart back. “You’ve already shown me. Let me go.”

His hand twitched as if to obey but then his arm swept up the length of my body. His palm skated over my skin, deliberately, possessively cupping my breast.

I jolted in his hold.

My eyes snapped closed.

He grunted as if touching that part of me—straying past his rules never to touch a woman—physically hurt him.

The softest beep from the piece of metal on his chest. A hiss of air between his teeth as his pain magnified. But his hand didn’t loosen, it tightened. Kneading me as if he couldn’t stop himself.

“You want me to admit it?” he murmured against my ear. “Admit that I touched you here last night?” His thumb brushed over my nipple, slow and deliberate. “I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t touch you now. But if this all goes spectacularly wrong then...I don’t want to die without knowing what you feel like.” His hand flexed, possessive and hot. “Are you shaking because you’re afraid or...” His mouth brushed my ear again. “Because you’re as fucked up as I am?”

He was going to knock me unconscious again.

He was going to murder me with a—

“If you’re not going to talk, then I’m going to take what I want,” he groaned. “Your silence is my permission unless you say otherwise.”

A full body shudder volted through me as his hand dropped from my breast and trailed like fireworks down my body. Down and down. Lower and lower.

I arched on my tiptoes, pressing into him, giving him all my balance as my world turned shadowy and shivery and sinful.

I tried to speak.

To ask what he planned on doing, but I lost the ability of speech as his fingers landed over my core and gathered the fabric of my dress.

Each rock of his wrist as he bunched it higher and higher threatened to brush against the very place I needed, needed, needed.

I moaned as the heel of his palm pressed down, gathering the final hem and dipping his hand beneath.

“Fuck, you’re as hot as I am under here.” I didn’t recognise his voice anymore. Gruff and smoky, black as the devil.

I didn’t just tremble, I quaked.

I clutched the knife he forced me to hold—his hand still tight around mine, anchoring us together as he sucked in a breath. He brought my hand with his, wrapping his arm around me and binding me at the same time, the knife glinting in our grip.

His shoulder dipped down. He curled over me. A soft curse caressed my ear as he groaned, “I’d ask you to teach me what to do but...we’re running out of time.” Pressing his forehead to my temple, he added, “If we survive past today, we’ll practice.”

And then his hand cupped between my legs.

Firmly. Fiercely. Hot and heavy and claiming.

I convulsed.

His hips rocked into my back, grinding his arousal against me. “Fuck.”

His unnatural body heat soaked into me as a soft beep came from his chest. He staggered a little but spread his legs, binding me to him as if I could take away his pain.

My mouth dropped wide as his fingers feathered to my clit and pressed down.

Three of them. Flat and determined and strong. He rubbed me. Once, twice. His touch slipped a little lower, giving me the entire length of his fingers while the tips strayed mind-breakingly close to slipping inside me.

If only I wasn’t wearing underwear.

If only I’d known he’d choose today to break and—

“Oh God.” I clenched as he found that perfect, perfect spot.

He breathed heavily against my ear, not speaking, entirely focused on where his fingers were.

He rubbed me. Rhythmically. Punishingly.

All those days, all those weeks—I didn’t stand a chance.

I detonated.

The sharpest, quickest orgasm tore through my body, releasing in savagely clenching waves.

His teeth sank into my neck from behind as he hooked his fingers around me, almost pulling me off the floor as if he wanted to feel every wave, every throb, every quiver, quake, and shudder.

I cried out as it kept going, bands after bands of pure, piercing pleasure, soaking into his hand.

He captured all of it, not letting me go.

And when it was finally over, he released me slowly, softly, far more gently than I thought he was capable of. Removing his hand, my dress tumbled down, and he pressed his slightly damp palm against my lower belly, pulling me back so I could feel every ridge, every throbbing inch of him.

I waited for his command to return the favour.

I burned to return the favour, but the same hand that’d shattered me slowly skated up my body, over my breasts, and settled around my neck.

He squeezed just a little, his voice torn and tattered. “Have you paid attention how to kill or...” He pressed his forehead to my shoulder for a moment, riding out whatever agony or lust still haunted him. “Do I need to teach you again?”

He expected me to talk after this?

To pretend like he hadn’t just had sex with me without taking my clothes off?

He was lucky I was still conscious. Lucky that the intensity of what he made me feel was stronger than the headache pounding at my skull.

“Well?” His fingers loosened a little, his thumb caressing me gently.

He sent yet more heat skittering through my blood.

Another drop and I’d spontaneously combust or come again...both were as likely as the other at this point.

Licking my lips, I begged my body to behave as I shoved my free hand behind me, burrowing it between our tightly pressed bodies.

He went rigid. “Wait...what are you—ghh.”

He jackknifed into me as I pressed my palm against his throbbing length.

My heart almost flew out of my chest as my vision danced with rainbows.

I’d never touched a man like this before.

Never known how hard he’d be or how ridiculously hot.

The position was awkward, my technique inexperienced, but I just copied what he’d given me. I learned his lesson because I was a diligent little student and squeezed him firmly, possessively, no hesitation or second guessing.

I delivered the sort of mind-stealing pressure I’d wanted.

I must’ve gotten it right because he almost dropped to the ground.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “Fuck me, that feels—”

His legs buckled as I fisted him the best I could.

He marched me forward until I slammed against the wall. He didn’t bother spinning me around. Didn’t stop me as his hips drove into my hand. The dagger clattered to the floor as his hand spasmed around mine, letting me go to wrap both arms around me, burrowing his forehead into my shoulder.

I had no control as he thrust against my palm.

No way to stop him as he used me for a release.

I relished in the loss of his control as he broke.

I flushed with power and pride and a dangerous amount of desperation.

And when he came, he roared as loud as Whisper.

He shuddered and jerked. His entire body wracking with convulsions as if he didn’t just come but was reborn.

Neither of us said a word as we stayed panting and plastered together against the wall.

I lost track of time as we fought our own agonies, suffering the aftershocks of pleasure.

Finally, sharpness turned to heaviness and the aftermath of our storm settled over us.

With a guttural groan, he pushed away, unwinding his arms from around me and raking both hands through his glossy black hair.

My knees pretended they were water, threatening to fold me to the floor as I turned to face him.

I choked on a breath as I met his stare.

All the air I couldn’t breathe before slammed into my lungs, making my vision grey, and the room spin. I needed to sit down. To put my head between my legs.