Our eyes met in the mirror. Understanding dawned. He smirked.

“Right,” he said, standing, taking my mouth with a searing kiss before separating long enough to whip off his shirt and shorts.

Again, my betraying eyes flickered to the mirror where his stunning backside was on full display. His back was muscled, his shoulders wide, his waist tapered to his hips ending at two perfectly formed orbs of grade-A man-arse.

A shallow breath escaped me as I consumed him with my eyes. I wanted to touch him, but he had different plans.

Kissing me, he wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me off the table, carrying me toward the mirror. Gently—but firmly—he lowered me to my knees, facing my reflection.

“Bend over,” he demand-whispered in my ear from behind and pressed me forward until I was on all fours. The friction of his chest hair against my back, his hot breath falling on my neck, and the growly quality in his voice sent shivers racing over my skin. He spread my knees apart with one of his.

“What are you doing?” I asked breathlessly, moving as instructed and watching him in the mirror with wide eyes.

“Let’s give ourselves a show.” I stared at his reflection as he rose behind me, his dark hand on my waist, his eyes on my arse, dirt under his fingernails, blood on his knuckles.

I was so clean and smooth. He was not. He was bloodied and bruised, sweaty and stained. He hadn’t shaved.

Leaning forward over my back, he bit my neck where it met my spine then worked his way down, biting and kissing until he reached my arse. Then he took a bite of that, too. Sending spikes of sensation along my nerve endings, his eyes on my skin, his fingers digging into my hips as he nudged my entrance with the head of his dick. I gasped, watching him, watching us.

With one swift movement he filled me, and I instinctively pressed back, wanting more. He groaned, his eyes finding mine in the mirror.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his gaze blazing, lowering to my lips then breasts, greedily devouring the sight of me on all fours. His stare was hazy, dark and determined, wild and raw.

I tilted my hips, rolling them as he entered me, his thighs slap, slap, slapping against my arse. He held my hips firmly in place, even so, my body jolted with his movements, which were just shy of painful. Sighs of pleasure escaped my lips. I moaned, I begged, my breath hitching. God, it was too much seeing us together, watching him watch me.

Abruptly, he wrapped his arm around my waist and straightened me, sitting on his heels as I sat back, straddled his lap, closing my eyes as my head fell to his shoulder.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded.

Doing as instructed, I forced my head up and our gazes tangled in the mirror. His was fierce, dark, and insatiably wild.

“Do you like watching?” the question asked through gritted teeth. “Do you like watching me fuck you?”

I could only nod, my throat dry, too overwhelmed by the sights, sensations, and sounds of our mating.

My gaze drifted lower, his dirty hands possessively kneading my breasts and leaving smudges, the scuff of his beard sandpaper against my shoulder. I rolled my pelvis, entranced by the sight of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy.

“Touch yourself,” he growled, biting my ear, holding me upright. “And bounce for me.”

So I did. I spread my folds and rubbed my middle finger around my clit, finding myself wet and swollen, and so incredibly sensitive to my touch. I bounced on his lap, increasing our tempo as a shudder wracked his perfect, strong body. I moaned, my other hand covering his where he rolled my nipple between his fingers.

“You’re a goddess,” he exhaled, his legs flexing beneath my thighs as he thrust upward to meet me.

“Bryan, I can’t—I’m so close.”

“Pinch your clit.” His voice was a dominating growl, as though he were barely controlling some base instinct. “Hard.”

I did and I threw my head back, seeing stars as my climax overtook me, paralyzed me, wound its threads of ecstasy through my veins and nerves and bones. His hands slid to my hips, lifting me up and down over his cock, using my body, and I let him, too lost to my pleasure to help. As he surged upward a low, guttural groan erupted from him as he came.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, breathed. His jaw was clenched, his fingers dug into my flesh.

I couldn’t catch my breath, my lungs strained, my body limp, useless. His chest rose and fell against my back as he held me, his rough exhales hot along my skin.

“God, Eilish. That was incredible. You’re incredible.” He gripped my chin, turning my head over my shoulder to capture my mouth with a deep, savoring kiss. He sipped me, sucked on my lips, caught my tongue with his teeth. “I love you.”

I stared at him, slowly sobering, feeling him everywhere: his arms around me, his body behind and beneath me, and he was still inside me.

It wasn’t enough. I wanted—

I want . . .

I didn’t even know. We’d just had crazy, dirty, voyeuristic sex, and I loved it. My body felt used and sore and spent in the best way.

But still, it wasn’t enough.

Bryan’s brow furrowed as he stared at me. His eyes grew searching. Turning me in his arms so he could hold me against him, he tugged on my hair to keep me from hiding my face.

“Hey. Are you okay? Did I cross a line?”

“No, God no. That was wonderful. You’re wonderful. I’m just—”

I didn’t know how to finish, how to answer. I wanted him forever. I never wanted to let him go. But I doubted myself, my feelings, the desperation of my want.