28

Asher

Sweat drips down my backbone, cool against my sizzling skin. I’m not sweating from exertion but from the strain of keeping myself in check. The urge to drive my cock faster and deeper into Camila with every thrust is beyond tempting.

But when I look at her under me, I know I can’t.

She’ll shatter. She’ll break. I never expected to care about this before now. When I imagined pumping inside of her in the past—and I imagined it often—I was ruthless. In those fantasies, I made her scream—whether from agony or delight, I didn’t care. But now … I do.

Why?

Something digs painfully into my knuckle. It gets worse when I squeeze Camila’s fingers to hold her hands over her head. That’s when I see the ring I forced on her finger—the seal of our upcoming false wedding. A prickle begins at the nape of my neck, and it worms down into my ribs.

This is why.

Shaking myself, I push the bubbling emotion deep below the surface of primal lust raging at the surface. My pace quickens. The wet sound of