By the time I make it to the couch, he’s already standing. “What do you think? Do you like it?” I ask as I begin to twirl painfully slow. I want him to admire and crave every slope and curve of my body.

He surprises me when he forcefully grabs me by the waist and pulls me close to him until our chests are touching. Even in my six-inch heels he towers over me, and I have to tilt my head back to be able to look him in the eye. Lust instantly thickens the air around us, making it harder to breathe. I run a hand through my hair, feeling nervous for the first time tonight. Lawrence leans down, grabs my face roughly between his hands and says, “Insolent girl. I’ll show you how much I like it when you’re in my bed.”

The images of him filling my body in every possible way swim in my head, my every thought drowning in desire. “Sounds like that could be dangerous, Lawrence,” I tease.

He laughs, and the sound is rich and throaty and so very delicious. “The best things in life always are. But I get the feeling that you like dangerous.”

I’m about to answer when he speaks once more.

“Do you really want to keep talking?”

I shake my head.

“Good because I’ve wanted to do this since I first walked in.”

“What’s that?” I murmur against his mouth, our breaths mingling together.

“This,” he says before his lips land on mine.

His kiss is like dark chocolate, bitter and laced with sweetness—an aphrodisiac. It’s darkness and light all at once. His kiss doesn’t ask. It takes. It demands total surrender, and I give it to him. I give him everything, whatever he wants. And I’m lost to it all. I’m lost to his tongue, to his lips, to his teeth that bite and feel like they draw blood. It hurts. It’s paradise. It makes my knees go weak. And it erases the memory of every kiss before him …

Except one.

When he pulls away, looking satisfied, I whisper breathlessly against his mouth, “You’re right.”

“Sweetheart, I’m always right. But what do you mean?”

“I like dangerous.” I grab the back of his head and pull him in for another kiss.

When we step out of my building, cool air caresses our skin. I turn to look at Lawrence, only to find him watching me with those striking green eyes of his. “What are you thinking about?” I smile.

Without breaking eye contact, he leans down, kisses the tip of my shoulder, and whispers in my ear, “Fucking you.”

My pulse picks up and my body buzzes with excitement as a hot blush covers my cheeks. I can still feel the smile on my lips when I spot the familiar black Rolls Royce parked outside my building. Expecting to see Tony, my gaze immediately goes to the man wearing an old-looking black suit I’ve seen before standing by the open passenger door, waiting for us.

When our eyes connect, shock hits me hard in the face, robbing me of the power to move. For a moment, I’m stunned. Speechless. I blink a couple of times to make sure that my eyes are not mistaken and that I’m not imagining things.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.

Watching me with eyes that could potentially destroy me is the last man I hoped to ever see—the only man who ever made me want more.

Ronan.