He gave me what I wanted, pounding into me with abandon, all pretense of gentleness gone. This was raw and primal and exactly what I needed. One of his hands found my throat—not squeezing, just resting there possessively—and the gesture made me clench around him.

"You like that?" he asked roughly. "Like when I'm rough with you?"

"Yes," I admitted. "Love it. Love when you lose control."

"You make me lose control," he said, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Every fucking time. I look at you and I forget every vow I ever made. Every promise. All I can think about is this—being inside you, making you scream, claiming you as...