Their lips collided with violent urgency, teeth clashing, breath mixing. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender. It was a storm — months of tension, betrayal, guilt, pain, and something neither of them wanted to name — crashing all at once.
Quinn’s hands roamed Sasha’s body as if trying to memorize every inch, tugging at her blouse and tearing it open, buttons scattering across the floor. Sasha growled low in her throat and yanked his shirt up, ripping the fabric in frustration more than lust, nails scraping along his ribs. Clothes hit the floor in tattered pieces. The air between them sparked with electricity.
Quinn spun her around, pushing her back onto the bed. Sasha kicked at him, her eyes still burning with fight, but he caught her leg and pinned her down. She snarled, flipped them in one
