POV Emilia
His mouth crashed into mine, all teeth and hunger. One kiss. Two. Three. My back slammed against the counter, dishes rattling, and then his hands were under my thighs, hauling me up like I weighed nothing.
“Fuck,” I gasped against his lips, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “This is insane.”
“Yeah?” His voice was a growl against my throat, hot and rough. “Then stop me.”
Instead of pushing him away, I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, locking him against me. “I don’t want to.”
“Good,” he said, biting down on my lower lip hard enough to make me whimper. His voice was a snarl, full of hunger and frustration. “Because I’m done pretending I don’t want to ruin you.”
He carried me down the hall with reckless steps, his mouth never leaving mine, until he kicked his bedroom door shut and threw me onto the bed. The sheets rippled beneath me like water, and he stood there for a beat, chest heaving, eyes black with want. He looked like a man about to snap.
“Take it off.” His voice was sharp, demanding, chin jerking toward my shirt.
“Ask nicely,” I shot back, my tone defiant even as my fingers trembled at the hem.
“Nicely?” He laughed, low and filthy, like the word tasted like poison in his mouth. “I don’t fucking ask, Emilia. I take.”
Before I could blink, he was on me again, dragging the shirt over my head and tossing it across the room. His hands gripped my wrists, pinning them above my head as his mouth devoured mine.
“Arrogant bastard,” I panted, nails raking his chest when he finally freed my hands.
“You love it.” His words were a growl against my lips, his teeth catching them, pulling. His palms roamed everywhere—rough, greedy, claiming. “Say it. Say you love how I touch you.”
“Fuck—” My head tipped back as his mouth burned a trail down my throat. “I… I do.”
“That’s right.” His teeth grazed my collarbone, and his hand clamped down on my hip so hard I knew I’d be bruised tomorrow. His voice was dark, reverent, like a vow. “You’re mine tonight. No fake fiancée. No assistant. Just mine.”
“Then make me forget everything else,” I whispered, tugging his hair hard enough to make him hiss in pleasure.
His lips curled into a wicked grin. “Careful, Miss Hart. You ask me to do that, I won’t stop until you’re begging for mercy.”
“Then don’t stop,” I shot back, my voice shaking but sure.
“Fuck,” he muttered, crashing his mouth against mine, desperate. “You have no idea what you just unleashed.”
He kissed me like he wanted to swallow every sound I made, like he wanted to rip me apart and keep me whole at the same time. His hands dragged down my sides, rough and claiming, like every inch of skin was territory he was conquering.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” he growled against my throat. His teeth caught my skin hard enough to sting. “Watching you walk around like you didn’t belong to me? Torture.”
“Adrian—” My voice broke on his name, his hand gripping the back of my neck, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“Say it again.” His stare pinned me harder than his body ever could.
“Adrian,” I breathed, shaky, undone.
His smirk was dangerous, unholy. “That’s the only name you get to remember tonight.”
He kissed me again, hard, bruising, his tongue claiming every gasp I let out. The air between us was frantic, every move messy and urgent, like neither of us cared if we burned the whole world down.
“You drive me fucking insane,” he muttered, lips dragging along my jaw, his breath hot and dirty against my ear. “I want you wrecked. Ruined. Crawling back to me because no one else can touch you the way I do.”
“You’re obsessed,” I whispered, even as my body arched toward him, betraying me.
“Damn right I am.” His laugh was dark, unhinged, vibrating against my skin. “And I don’t even want to fix it.”
His words sank into me, filthy and final, like a chain locking tight. Every kiss, every grip, every muttered curse between us rewrote the rules we’d been pretending to live by.
“Tell me you hate me,” he demanded suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at me. His pupils were blown wide, his chest rising hard.
“I don’t.” My voice was ragged. “I can’t.”
His grin was vicious. “Good. Because I don’t hate you either. I fucking crave you.”
Then his mouth was back on mine, and there was nothing left but heat and chaos. The sheets twisted beneath us, slick with sweat and desperation. My moans were swallowed by his lips, his name breaking from me again and again like a secret I couldn’t hold.
Eventually the frenzy ebbs, leaving the stunned quiet of two bodies finally still. His heartbeat steadies under my palm; the city hums like white noise beyond the glass. I don’t notice sleep arriving—only the moment it swallows me whole.
I wake up to my phone having what can only be described as a technological seizure.
Buzz. Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz buzz.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, reaching for it without opening my eyes. “What fresh hell is this?”
Adrian stirs beside me—gorgeously naked and completely unconscious—while my phone continues its electronic breakdown.
The first notification makes my blood freeze solid.
Page Six: HART-Marlowe ENGAGEMENT IS FAKE: EXCLUSIVE AUDIO REVEALS ALL
“What the actual fuck,” I breathe, suddenly very awake and very naked and very screwed.