In two strides, he closed the distance. He grabs me and my back hits the nearest wall, hard enough to steal my breath. His palm lands beside my head, the other gripping my waist, fingers pressing into skin like he’s fighting himself.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice rough, low, and dangerous.
But he doesn’t move away.
His thumb drags across my lower lip, slow, and deliberate. My breath hitches. His eyes follow the motion like it costs him something not to give in completely.
“I do,” I whisper. My voice sounds nothing like me.
Zayne exhales through his nose, a sound halfway between a curse and a growl. “You really don’t.”
Then his restraint snaps.
He tilts my chin up and crushes his mouth to mine. The kiss isn’t gentle, it’s control breaking, patience unrave
