André's lips moved slowly against hers, like a man drinking from a forbidden cup. His mouth pressed harder, then softer, like he was trying to taste every part of her lips, every breath that left her throat. His kiss wasn't rushed—it was hungry, deliberate, as though he needed it to live. Vivienne kissed him back without thought, her brain refusing to make sense of what was happening. She couldn't process a damn thing.
Her body was hot, trembling, useless. Her mind screamed at her to stop, but her mouth betrayed her, opening for him, answering him. The taste of him lingered on her tongue, salt and heat and danger, everything she swore she hated, yet she leaned closer. His kiss was relentless, dragging her into a place she didn't want to go, but her body leaned into it anyway.
