Eve should have fought harder.
She should have yanked her wrist free, shoved him back, screamed at him to stay the hell away from her. She should have done something—anything—except stand there, frozen, with her pulse hammering against his grip.
But Adrian was too close.
Too warm.
Too patient.
She could feel the heat of him seeping into her skin, could feel the way his fingers curled just enough to hold her still but not enough to bruise. Not yet.
His lips barely moved when he spoke, his breath a whisper against her cheek.
“Say it.”
Her stomach clenched. “Say what?”
“You know.” His fingers tightened. “Say you want me to stop.”
Her throat was dry. She should have said it.
She opened her mouth—but nothing came out.
Adrian smiled.
Slow. Knowing. Triumphant.
“That’s what I thought.”
Before she could respond, he moved.
His grip shifted from her wrist to her waist, dragging her forward, and suddenly, her body was pressed against his—solid muscle, hard heat, raw power.
A gasp left her lips, but he swallowed the sound before it could form, his mouth brushing against hers—not quite a kiss, not quite restraint.
A tease. A warning.
Her hands flew to his chest, palms pressing against him—but not to push him away.
Adrian felt it. He knew.
His other hand came up, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head back, exposing her throat.
“You think I haven’t been waiting for this?” His voice was a rough whisper. “A whole fucking year, Eve.”
Her breath shuddered.
A year.
A year since the first time she had let him touch her. Since the night she had kissed him—a mistake, a reckless moment that had ignited something neither of them could put out.
A year since she had tried to run.
Adrian never let go of things that belonged to him.
He pressed his lips to the pulse at her throat, just barely, just enough to make her shiver.
Then, lower.
A soft scrape of teeth against her skin.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
She was. She hated that he could feel it.
“Let go of me,” she whispered, but even she didn’t believe it.
Adrian’s grip didn’t loosen. Instead, he dipped his head, his lips tracing the edge of her jaw, the barest ghost of a kiss, slow and agonizing.
“You don’t mean that.”
Her nails dug into his shirt. “I do.”
His tongue flicked against the skin just beneath her ear, and her whole body tensed.
“No,” Adrian said, voice like a dark promise. “You don’t.”
Then, finally—he kissed her.
Not soft. Not gentle.
A claim.
His mouth was hot, demanding, and when his fingers fisted in her hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp, he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him.
Heat exploded through her veins, need tightening in her core.
Eve should have pulled away.
But instead, she leaned in, her body betraying her, her lips parting for him as his tongue slid against hers—slow, deep, filthy.
He groaned against her mouth, like he had been starving for this.
She didn’t realize she had been pushing closer until her back hit the wall, until he pressed into her, until the undeniable hardness between his legs made her stomach twist with something wicked.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of her sweater, fingers trailing over bare skin, mapping her like a territory he had always known was his.
Eve gasped as his palm flattened against her ribs, thumb brushing the underside of her breast.
Adrian laughed softly. “Too much?”
She hated him.
Hated the way he could ruin her with just a touch, a whisper, a look.
She yanked him down again, kissing him hard, her teeth scraping against his lower lip.
His grip tightened.
“Fuck,” he muttered, low and raw. “You’re going to kill me.”
Then he lifted her.
Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her back pressing harder into the wall as his mouth moved lower—her throat, her collarbone, the edge of her sweater.
Then—he stopped.
Adrian’s breathing was rough, his forehead resting against hers.
“You have seven nights to decide how far you want this to go.”
Eve swallowed hard.
Seven nights.
Seven nights to destroy herself completely.
She didn’t know if she wanted to run—or if she wanted to be ruined beyond repair.
