[Erotic Scene Ahead]

Catherine's Pov

The word "obsessed" lingers between us just as his hands finally find the curves of my breasts, and I feel myself growing impossibly wetter. My eyes lock onto his, then drop to his lips. I can't decide whether to surrender completely or push him away, but the last shred of my morality vanishes the moment I cup his face and crush my lips against his in a ferocious kiss that he returns with equal hunger.

This isn't gentle. It's desperate, messy, and so intense it steals my breath. I kiss him back just as fiercely, letting him dominate the exchange. The taste of mint mixes with the salt of his sweat from his run, and the combination has me moaning against his mouth. My fingers tangle in his hair while one of his hands fists in mine, tilting my head back. The other rips my blouse open, exposing my stomach to the cool air.

I should be terrified. Maybe I am, but my fear is hopelessly tangled with white-hot desire as his mouth leaves mine to trail down my throat. His teeth scrape over my pulse point, and I whimper. "You taste so good," he growls against my skin.

The world tilts as my back hits the mattress, his hard body pressing me down. My eyes dart to the door. "It's not locked," I whisper, pressing a finger to his lips to stop him.

He bites my fingertip, his gaze locked on mine, and my stomach flips. "They're not here."

"Just lock it. Please." The plea slips out before I can stop it. He nods and rises, giving me just enough time to shove the typewriter to the far side of the bed. When he returns, he yanks his shirt off, and the sight makes me ache. He's more muscular than the sweatshirt suggested, his torso adorned with delicate tattoos that make my mouth water.

He strips completely, and my breath catches at the thick length of him. Bigger than his father. The thought should horrify me, but it only fuels my hunger.

Then he's on me again, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand while the other peels away my sweatpants and underwear. "Look at you," he murmurs when I'm bare beneath him. His gaze burns across my skin. "So perfect."

Perfect. Not whore. Not slut. None of the venomous names Evander would hiss before his fists drove them home.

I don't get to dwell on it. His knee presses between my thighs, parting them with a gentleness that feels foreign before his mouth meets my core. His tongue is searing hot against my folds, and pleasure jolts through me like lightning.

I arch off the bed with a choked gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets. His tongue flicks and teases, and my hips jerk instinctively, seeking more. He groans against me, the vibration making me shudder, and his hands clamp on my thighs to hold me still.

"Soren," I moan, tugging his hair as my insides clench. The familiar wave crashes over me, and I come undone with a cry.

The aftershocks haven't faded when he's on me again, kissing me through the haze of sensations I can't begin to name. Tears streak my cheeks—I've never felt like this before.

When he finally pushes inside, we both groan like we've been starving for it. "Fuck, you feel so good," he grits out, staring into my eyes as he fills me inch by agonizing inch. I gasp when he bottoms out, my body stretching to accommodate him.

Every thrust is measured, controlled, like he's determined to ruin me with pleasure rather than force. And it's working. My nails rake down his back, and the growl it pulls from him vibrates through my entire body.

"Again," he demands, his voice rough. I obey, scratching harder this time. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping skin, my broken moans, his filthy praises. Pleasure coils tighter until I'm sobbing his name, until my world narrows to just him—his hands, his mouth, the way he moves inside me.

"Louder," he growls against my ear, thrusts turning punishing. "Let me hear you."

I cry out as another orgasm rips through me, my back bowing off the bed. He follows with my name on his lips, his hips stuttering as he spills inside me.

Afterward, he stays buried in me, his weight pinning me to the mattress as we both struggle to breathe. Then something primal shifts in him. His grip on my wrists tightens, and his lips find my neck. I gasp as his fangs protrude and pierce my skin—a searing pain mixed with the aftershocks of pleasure.

He pulls back, eyes wide as he searches my face for a reaction. I kiss him gently, tasting my blood on his lips. I don't understand what just happened. Don't know what it means. All I know is he's ‘fucked’ me better than my husband ever has, and now I'm ruined for anything else.