IVAN'S POV
The kiss was hungry. Painful. Perfect.
I devoured her like a man starved, my tongue sliding deep into the honey of her mouth, my hands locked tight around her body.
She gasped—startled—and, Goddess, I swallowed every bit of that sound like it was made just for me.
I could taste her rage, her denial, her weakness, all of it reeling me deeper into the paradox that she was, drawing a feverish hunger from the depths of me.
Goddess, I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. I couldn't listen to reason—that we were in a room anyone could walk into, that this was wrong, that she didn't want this.
None of it made it through the daze of primal desire bursting through me, through the heat curling in my abdomen and rushing straight to my cock.
Mine. Maeve was mine.
Her hands shoved at me once, weak, half-hearted, but I pinned her tighter. I wasn't giving her space. Not when she was gasping for me. Not when she was this close.
