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Amara’s POV
The warmth of his body against hers felt suffocating. The intimacy he demanded was like a noose tightening around her neck, dragging her into the void she’d been desperately clawing her way out of. Every kiss, every touch, was a reminder that she was his prisoner—not just of his hands, but of her own twisted emotions.
She didn’t want this.
She didn’t want him.
But her body betrayed her again, arching toward the heat of his skin like it had no memory of the pain he caused. Shame coursed through her veins, hot and thick.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned her face away, choking on a sob.
Xavier’s low, satisfied chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. He brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek—tender, almost reverent. "You think I don’t see it? You think I do
