AVA'S TERMS

CHAPTER 2:LET HIM WRECK ME

I couldn't hold on much longer. The need was a fire roaring inside me, and I was done trying to tame it.

I stood from the bed, ready to reach for him, but he stopped me with a single look.

"What?" I asked, breathless.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked down at me, his towering frame wrapped in quiet dominance. Without my heels, I felt smaller, more exposed. His eyes held something primal, hunger laced with control. My heart stuttered.

"We do it my way now," he said, voice deep and rough, like velvet dragged over steel.

The words alone sent a sharp pulse straight to my core.

Before I could form a response, his hands gripped the hem of my dress and drew it up and over my head in one smooth motion. It hit the floor, leaving me bare, my n*****s hard and aching under the weight of his gaze.

He didn't rush.

His eyes moved over my body like he was memorizing every curve, every inch of me. My chest rose and fell with each breath, anticipation building like pressure behind a dam.

He stepped forward, fingers brushing my waist, trailing upward until his palms cupped my breasts — rough against soft. I gasped, arching slightly into his touch.

"You're even more perfect than I imagined," he murmured, mouth lowering to one sensitive peak.

The second his tongue met my skin, my knees nearly buckled.

His mouth was warm, his tongue wicked, circling, flicking, savoring until I clutched at his shoulders and forgot my own name. Every brush of his lips sent jolts down my spine, heat pooling low and urgent.

His hands moved with purpose, firm, steady, utterly confident, like he'd already mapped my body in his mind. He guided me backward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed, and he pressed me down gently. The cool sheets were a sharp contrast against my heated skin.

He stood over me for a moment, shrugging off his shirt completely. I bit my lip as my eyes traced down his torso.

He caught the look. Smirked. "Patience."

I wanted to whimper.

Steven climbed over me, bracing his arms on either side of my head, his weight pressing me into the mattress in all the right ways. His lips found mine again — deeper now, hungrier, kissing me like he intended to unravel me piece by piece.

His fingers slid between us, tracing the inside of my thighs, teasing me through the thin lace that barely covered anything.

"Already soaked," he murmured against my ear. "Is this all for me?"

"All of it," I whispered, breathless, writhing beneath him.

He chuckled low in his throat, dark and dangerous. His fingers worked slowly, deliberately, tracing the sensitive outline through the lace. He wanted me undone. And I was close.

A moan escaped before I could catch it, needy, unfiltered. The look on his face told me everything. He was barely holding himself back, but still perfectly in control.

Then the lace was gone, discarded somewhere in the shadows.

His mouth was warm against me, his tongue maddeningly precise. I tangled my fingers in the sheets, arching, lost in the rhythm of his movements and the steady pressure of his hand still roaming my chest — kneading, exploring, commanding.

"You taste," he murmured, voice thick and low, "dangerous."

I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

The world narrowed to sensation, the low growl in his throat, the brush of stubble against my inner thighs, the heat that coiled in my core and begged to break free. He worked me with precision, two fingers curling deep while his mouth stayed relentless. My moans weren't soft anymore, they were guttural, desperate. I arched my back, hips moving against him, chasing the edge he kept holding just out of reach.

Then he pulled back.

Just like that.

I was about to protest loudly until I saw him rise to his feet, eyes locked on mine, heavy with desire. He dropped his pants in one smooth motion, and my breath caught.

He was thick, hard, and imposing — exactly as dangerous as the rest of him. My mouth went dry. Everything in me wanted him.

"Do you see what you've done to me?" he asked, voice rough.

I licked my lips and met his gaze without flinching. "Then ruin me with it."

Something shifted in his expression, the smirk gone, replaced by something deeper. Primal.

He moved over me again, deliberate and controlled, and when our bodies finally connected, I gasped — back arching, fingers curling into his shoulders.

"You're so tight," he breathed against my ear as he began to move.

His rhythm started slow intentional like he wanted to feel everything, wanted me to feel everything. His hands roamed constantly, setting every nerve alight. His mouth dropped to my chest, and I moaned — loud and unfiltered. This was exactly what I'd come for.

The pleasure built in waves, each one higher than the last, until my body tightened around him and broke completely — a rush that left me gasping, trembling, undone.

He followed moments later, withdrawing at the last second, his release spilling onto the sheets as a quiet, rough sound left his throat.

We collapsed side by side, breathless and spent. The room was silent except for the sharp rise and fall of our chests. My skin still buzzed, and I could feel the warmth of him even in the space between us.

Steven lay beside me, one arm tossed behind his head, the other trailing a lazy fingertip along my thigh. I glanced at him this man I knew nothing about, who'd just wrecked me like he'd known my body his whole life.

"Damn," I whispered.

He chuckled, not even looking at me. "You started it."

I smiled, rolling over to rest my head against his chest. The sound of his steady heartbeat grounded me more than I expected. I hadn't come here for softness — but right now, it felt strangely perfect.

I traced a slow line down his stomach. "Still not telling me what you do?"

He smirked, eyes still closed. "Maybe in the morning."