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You’re—”
    “I’m what?” Her fingers start working on the tie I loosened hours ago, undoing the knot and sliding it slowly from beneath my collar. “Horny?” She drapes the tie over one of her wrists, wraps it around a couple times. I can’t take my eyes from it, can’t get over how good the teal silk looks against her skin. “Aching?” She pulls the fabric tight, knots it so it won’t fall off. Then uses that same hand to reach for mine. “Wet?” She puts my hand between her legs, covers it with her own. Then strokes both of our fingers gently through her still-drenched folds.
    Fuck.
    “I don’t understand what the problem is,” she tells me, spreading her legs so we can both watch what we’re doing. “You want to fuck me. I want you to fuck me. Isn’t that enough?”
    It should be. It really should be. I reach for control once more, reach for the strength of will that’s always been a part of me. A part of this. But then Aria whimpers, the seductress disappearing as her eyes glaze over with tears and she pleads, “Please, Sebastian, I need you inside of me. I need—” the last of my control snaps.
    Grabbing her wrists, I pull them above her head, wind the ends of the tie around her unbound wrist and then knot them together.
    “Turn around,” I order as I shrug out of my shirt.
    When she doesn’t move immediately, I start to bark at her to do what I asked. But her attention is fastened on my chest—and the phoenix tattoo that runs across my pecs. She wants to touch it, I can tell, but I’m about ten seconds away from blowing my whole fucking wad and her stroking my chest isn’t going to do anything but make me come faster. So I grab the hands she’s even now lowering, yank them back above her head. And then I spin her so that she’s facing the window again, her hands and cheek, her breasts and sex pressed up against the glass.
    Far below us, Vegas glitters in a kaleidoscope of yellow and blue and green lights. It’s a famous view, one that’s almost impossible to overlook, but here, now, I barely notice it. All I can see and feel and think about is Aria.
    I make quick work of unzipping my pants, yanking my wallet out of my pocket. I pull out a condom, roll it on with hands that are still shaking way too much.
    “Hurry,” Aria urges, thrusting her ass back against me. “I want—”
    Her voice breaks as I slide myself along her soft folds.
    “How do you want it?” I snarl, holding on to sanity by the skin of my teeth. “Hard and fast? Deep and slow?”
    “Any way you want to give it to me,” she pants.
    Way. Right. Answer.
    Wrapping my hands around her hips, I pull her ass up and back. I’m on fire now, balls aching, dick burning with the need to bury itself deep inside her. A quick slide of my hand between her thighs proves she’s still wet, still ready. And then I’m sliding inside of her, slamming home with one smooth roll of my hips.
    Aria cries out, arches wildly. Her hands slam against the window and I slide mine up her arms, past her tied wrists, to tangle our fingers together. I thrust again and again and she tugs like she’s trying to get free, but I refuse to let her hands go. Refuse to let
her
go, not now that I’ve finally got her where I’ve wanted her ever since I watched her rack that whale.
    “Sebastian!” she gasps, and the sound of my name on her lips—broken, desperate—shreds the last ounce of control I’ve got. With a growl, I sink my teeth into her shoulder to hold her still as I pound into her again and again.
    I’m rough, I know I am, but any gentleness I had in me was used up long ago. I ride her hard and fast, slamming her hips into the window again and again and again. Each thrust is a frenzy of need, each stroke a declaration of ownership. Still, I make sure that every cry I wrench out of her is of pleasure, that every stroke into her body takes her one step higher.
    And she’s taking it, more, she’s relishing it, her muscles tightening