I brace myself against the slick tiles, my chest heaving with harsh, ragged breaths as Clayton''s eyes blaze into mine. The heat between us is a living, breathing thing, a palpable force that crackles in the air like an electric current.

    "Clayton," I manage, my voice a breathless rasp. "We need to... call the guards."

    My words would probably have a little more punch if I wasn''t still working my fingers between my thighs. His eyes fall from my face to my hands, and he steps forward.

    A thrill rushes through me, and I spread my legs a little farther. "The guards," I prompt, even as I bring myself to yet another orgasm, panting as my face flushes with its heat.

    I want his fingers, not mine.

    I want his tongue, not his fingers.

    I want his cock, not his tongue.

    I want...

    Fuck, I can''t handle this.

    His nostrils flare at the sound of my voice, his jaw clenching as a muscle ticks in his chiseled cheek. I can see the war raging within him, the primal alpha instincts battling against his ironclad control.

    "Ava," he growls, and the sound of my name on his lips sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me. I whimper, my thighs clenching tight as I struggle to stay standing.

    Clayton''s eyes zero in on the motion, darkening to smoky jade as a low rumble builds in his chest. He takes a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.

    "You''re playing with fire, little one," he warns, his voice a low, gravelly purr that sends shivers racing down my spine. "I can smell your need from here. It''s taking everything I have not to take you right now."

    A whine escapes me at his words, my body arching helplessly towards him. The heat is a living inferno now, an all-consuming blaze that threatens to reduce me to ashes if I don''t find release soon.

    I''m drowning in the taste of him, in the blazing heat of his kiss and the hard planes of his body pressed against mine. My fingers tangle in his hair, clutching him closer as the fire rages hotter, burning away the last vestiges of my control.

    One of his hands curls into my hair, yanking my head back as he plunders my mouth.

    The other slides down, pressing against my lower abdomen in a way that makes my hips buck. He slides one jean-clad leg between mine, and I grind down immediately, groaning at the feel of rough, wet denim against my core. The friction is maddeningly delicious and I can''t quite get the angle for my clit, frustrating me to no end.

    But his fingers dive there, twisting, pinching, rubbing in turns until I''m writhing and riding his leg in a way I never knew I could, exploding from that little touch alone.

    "You''re perfect," he whispers, biting at my lips. "Fuck. We need—the bed. We need to get to the bed."

    But we don''t move anywhere as his fingers take the place of his leg. They plunge inside without any foreplay, and pain blossoms into the greatest pleasure.

    Fuck.

    Fuck me.

    Oh, my God.

    There''s nothing gentle about his movements as his fingers curl, abusing that spot just inside that I can never touch quite right.

    I think I might be screaming, because I can''t handle the pleasure.

    A part of me knows that this is wrong, that I shouldn''t be letting this happen. But that voice is a mere whisper against the roar of instinct, against the primal cravings that consume me from the inside out.

    All I can think about is how badly I need this, how badly I need my alpha to claim me and sate this maddening blaze. Clayton''s tongue strokes against mine in a heated promise, and I shudder against him with a low, keening moan, bucking my hips against his hand as I beg for more.

    Mine. He''ll be mine, if only for this moment.