Amara’s POV
Her back slammed against the cold wall, the sharp contrast to Xavier’s heat searing into her bones.
“No,” she whispered, pushing against his chest. “Stop.”
But her hands didn’t push hard enough.
His mouth was still on hers—punishing, possessive—like he was trying to imprint himself onto her soul. When he finally pulled away, they were both gasping. His grip on her wrists loosened but didn’t fall away.
“You feel it too,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t lie to yourself.”
“I hate you,” she choked. “I hate everything about you.”
He leaned in close, nose brushing hers. “Your mouth says that, but your body—your body’s already mine.”
“No—”
“Amara,” he interrupted gently, but with a warning underneath, “you think I didn’t notice? The way your breath catches when I enter the room? The
