“So, this is how you want to do this?” he asks, studying me as he inches closer. 

I hold up one hand, silently begging him to stop. “Do what? I think you should leave.” 

“I don’t want to manhandle you, darling, but I will.” 

“Listen,” I begin, trying to stall. There must be a way to reason with him. There’s nowhere for me to run. 

He chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Fight me, baby.” It’s the only warning I receive. 

He lunges. I jump, but he’s too fast, and I have nowhere left to go. The flimsy lock on the bathroom door would not detain him. Before I can scream, his lips cover mine, and I’m flat on my back on the bed. 

He conquers. 

He consumes. 

He makes me want. 

His weight crushes me. I jerk my head to the side, panting greedily. I can’t give in to him. “Stop,” I heave, sucking in a big gulp of air, since I’m pinned beneath his hulking frame. My hands are caught in one of his. He holds me easily enough, his knee wedged between my thighs. I don’t want to hurt him, but if he persists…. 

My breasts rise and fall against his chest. Instead of being scared, I’m repulsed by how turned on I actually am. His free hand cups my face, forcing me to look at him. I can’t hide. The heat in his eyes singes me alive. There’s no escaping him, and I fight against the urge to rub my body against his. He feels so good. 

He drags his fingers down my cheek and then rubs his thumb against his forefinger. Next, he touches my mouth, brushing that same thumb along my lower lip. What is he doing? I don’t have too much time to think about it though. Those caresses of his have my stomach tightening with need. I’m losing my focus. 

His fingers trace the arches of my eyebrows. The expression on his face is so out of place with who I imagine him to be. He’s surprisingly tender, and I’m floored by this discovery. He might actually be capable of more than his hard exterior suggests. He’s intent in his explorations, gentle and not missing even the smallest detail of my face. The entire time, his eyes remain locked on mine. All of a sudden, he pauses and then shows me his fingertips, but I don’t understand. 

“See this,” he murmurs, and I nod, even though I’m uncertain what he means, because there’s nothing there. His husky voice has me longing to squeeze my eyes shut, to deny how much this man makes me feel, but closing my eyes will not help me forget the weight of his body pressing into mine. Instead, I hold his stare, unable to look away. I should be screaming, fighting him, demanding for my release, but for some unexplainable reason, I don’t do a damn thing. “No artifice. All fucking natural. None of that shit for you, baby, not that you need it.” 

Is he talking about makeup? My eyes widen when his tongue darts out to glide along his lower lip. My cheeks heat at the sight, but this is not the first time I’ve seen his tongue. Between us, the air crackles heavily with promise. 

“Now you listen to me. You and I, we’re going to happen.” Before I can protest, he’s continues. “There’s no use in denying it. Why do you fight what we both know you want?” He rocks his hips into the cradle of mine, and even though I bite down on my lower lip, a shameful moan escapes my mouth, proving his point. 

“Will you get off me?” I growl. I’m so frustrated, achy, confused, and needy, and it’s all because of him.