"Carcel, wait…" Ines moaned, her voice a low, breathless sound he had, to his own, eternal shame, come to recognize. He was kissing her neck. He could feel the frantic pulse beneath his lips.
He didn't listen. He couldn't.
He was a man possessed, his mouth a hot, desperate, plundering force. He moved from her neck, that sweet, intoxicating curve, and he crashed his lips into hers. He kissed her with a raw, savage, hunger, a hunger that had been building in him since that morning. He was starving, and she... she was a banquet.
He felt her small, capable hands come up, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
He pulled back, his hands moving, finding the thin, silk straps of her nightgown. The transparent one. The one he hated and come to love. He tore it from her. He did not care. He needed her skin.
