He leaned in, speaking low, voice like warm honey, "You remember, don't you? The way your hands ran down these muscles. The way you trembled when I slid my palm between your thighs. You begged me to stop… but your body never did."
Her lips parted in horror—but also shame.
She couldn't lie.
Her hands had gripped those abs, nails clawing into his skin as he'd slammed her down, thrust after ruthless thrust. His body had felt like fire on hers, like he was melting her apart from the inside.
"I didn't—" she tried, breath hitching.
"You did," he cut her off smoothly. "You climbed on top of me first. You kissed me first. You cried when I didn't go slow, but you never told me to stop."
Tears pricked her eyes.
He was right.
She had kissed him. She had kissed him and begged him not to stop. Even when her body shook. Even when it hurt. Because it also felt…
"Don't cry," he said softly.
And then, without warning—
He reached forward.
Yanked her wrist.
