At last, Vincent could hold back no longer.
In an instant, he turned the tables—no longer passive, but taking control with a force that bordered on feral intensity.
The temperature in the room rose, climbing higher and higher…
The black silk ribbon was torn away, falling to the carpet alongside their disheveled clothes.
Like a storm long restrained, Vincent unleashed everything he had been holding back—his restraint, his control, his longing, his devotion—pouring it all into Rory.
Rory felt like a fragile boat caught in the heart of a tempest, helpless against the surging waves. All she could do was cling to him, letting him carry her through the rising and falling tides…
Outside the window, daylight faded into night…
…
When Rory regained consciousness, two days had already passed.
