And before she could breathe, before she could think, he crashed his lips against hers again, silencing the room once more.
This time, Helena didn't hesitate.
She kissed him back with a desperation that bordered on violence, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, harder, trying to consume him the way he was consuming her.
The kiss was everything.
Air didn't matter. Thought didn't matter. The game, the charade, Vivienne... none of it mattered.
There was only this: his mouth on hers, his tongue invading, claiming, his hands gripping her jaw with bruising force, and the white-hot pleasure burning through every nerve in her body.
She moaned into his mouth... a broken, needy sound... and felt his answering growl vibrate through her chest.
His hand slid from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her carefully styled hair, destroying the elegant updo with careless possession.
She didn't care.
