Amelia barely had time to breathe before Andrew’s lips were on hers again, stealing any protest she might have uttered. His grip was firm—demanding—but not cruel. It was as if he knew exactly how far to push, how to break down her defenses without shattering her completely.
The silk of her torn dress pooled at her feet, leaving her vulnerable under his gaze. His hands traced over her bare skin, fingers skimming her ribs, her waist, before gripping her hips in a way that sent heat surging through her veins.
She knew what was coming.
Knew what she had agreed to.
Yet her body betrayed her—responding to his touch, her breathing coming faster, her n*****s tightening against the cool air.
Andrew smirked against her lips as if he could sense every shift in her, every silent surrender.
"You can prete……
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