Deep down, I know that my love for Ronan is a wound that won’t ever heal, but being with Lawrence lessens the pain. And isn’t numbness—a blessed oblivion—what we seek after love has done us wrong? Lawrence helps me forget him, dulling the ache with my inexhaustible want for him and his money. He’s my savior and foe. My sickness and cure, all at once.

“Does it matter?” I ask, licking my dry lips. “I’m here.”

In the silence that follows, tension running high, I wonder if Lawrence has figured out the truth behind my unspoken words. I don’t think Lawrence would care either way. He has made it more than clear what he wants from me, and my love isn’t it.

And that’s perfectly fine with me.

There’s something carnal in the way he’s staring at me that makes me feel as though I can’t breathe. I don’t want him to ever stop. My heart beats wildly and my pussy grows wet with anticipation as his gaze travels leisurely across my body. With his fingers wrapped around me like an ivy vine, it would be so easy for him to snap my neck in half. The contact is dangerously divine.

“Be still,” he orders, his voice full of restrained power.

Lawrence lets go of me, my skin burning from the ghost of his touch, and begins tracing the edge of the lace cup covering one of my breasts. The caress, soft as a lover’s whisper, hardens my nipples and raises goosebumps along my arms. Blood rushes to my head, making me dizzy, and I breathe deeply.

I bite my lower lip when he hooks his finger around the cup, pushing the fabric aside, and watches my tit spill out, his green eyes growing midnight dark. Then he touches my nipple, rubbing the rosy tip and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It sends shockwaves of pleasure throughout me, focusing on the pulsing center of my body.

I’m about to close my eyes, lost in sensation, when I hear him say, “Eyes on me, Blaire.”

He grabs me roughly by the waist, closing the space between us, and wraps an arm around my middle. Holding me tight in his embrace, Lawrence moves his free hand under the skirt of my little black dress and impales me with two of his fingers.

There’s pain laced with pleasure as he pumps his fingers in and out of my pussy over and over again. Hard. Deep. Unapologetically. Flesh and sweat. The smell of my body’s reaction to his touch coats the air—I can taste it. Leaning over me, high color on his cheeks and a searing gaze, Lawrence looks like a God sent from above to punish me or to seek my salvation.

It’s hard.

It’s punishing.

It’s divine.

Lawrence stops his assault, his fingers still inside me, and stares at me. Before I have a chance to speak, he pulls his hand out of me and cups my cheek, his fingers wet with my essence. I lift my face as he lowers his and just like that our lips touch once again. Something basic in me, something primal makes me lift my hands and tangle my fingers in his hair, bringing him closer to me. Our open-mouthed kiss turns hungry and then it turns into a desperate fight for air, where the source of such relief can only be found in the other. Urgently, thinking of Ronan but desperately wanting—needing—the man in front of me, my hands go to his belt and I unbuckle him.

I push my hand inside his boxer briefs covering his cock with my hand, pumping its length and feeling it throb for me. “So hard …”

Take me to your bedroom,” I whisper between hungry kisses.

He picks me up by the ass and I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding myself on his cock, feeling the way it swells for me, the way my body instantly ignites for him.

“No. Fuck the bedroom—I want you now,” he hisses. He walks us to the wooden table sitting in the middle of the foyer. Without giving it a second thought, he pushes the grand and extremely expensive looking crystal vase off the table with the back of his hand so he can place me on it instead. I hear glass shattering as it smashes on the floor, the smell of roses rising like steam.