Because I'm realizing something important: I don't just want the Andrew who brings me sunrises and classic movies. I want this one, too.
The one who looks at me like he wants to devour me whole.
The one who's barely holding himself back.
I want the sweet and the sour.
The violent and the tender.
The gentleman and the beast.
I want all of him, even the parts that should terrify me. Maybe even especially those parts.
Andrew moves before I can blink.
His hand clamps around the back of my neck, dragging me across the armrest and into his lap.
I land with a gasp, my skirt twisted around my legs.
"Andrew, I—"
He swallows the rest of my sentence. His tongue invades my mouth, hot and insistent.
I make a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and his grip on my neck tightens in response.
"Do you have any idea," he growls against my lips, "what you've been doing to me all night?"
His free hand slides down my side and claws
