The world had dissolved into a violent rush of sensation.
Ashton’s lips never left hers as he maneuvered them out of the study and into the dimly lit corridor. The mahogany door shut behind them with a decisive thud, muffling the chaos inside. The hallway was a silver-and-shadow maze, illuminated only by the faint, angry flashes of the storm outside. Belle was a weightless burden in his arms, her legs locked around his waist, the thin fabric of her nightsuit offering no defense against the heat radiating off his skin.
He moved with a brute, instinctual grace, his mouth a continuous, merciless demand that annihilated her every thought and protest. She was drowning, but somehow, terrifyingly, she was still fighting for air, her fingers gripping the straining muscles of his neck and shoulde
