There was no time for a pause. No room for a slow, romantic descent into intimacy. My adrenaline was a wildfire, and I was running straight through the center of it. If I stopped to catch my breath, I feared I might lose the rhythm, and tonight, momentum was everything. I didn't just lead him to the bed; I launched him into it. Using the same silk tie that had been my anchor, I gave a sudden, powerful heave. I channeled every ounce of my hunger and my manic energy into one explosive movement. He was caught mid-sentence, his eyes widening in total disbelief as he was yanked off his feet. *Thud.* He hit the mattress with a heavy, breathless impact, his body sinking into the expensive linens. His glasses nearly slid from his face, and for a split second, he lay there—stunned, staggered, and completely conquered by gravity. I didn't stop to admire my work. I couldn't. The sight of him sprawled across the bed, looking disheveled and beautifully undone, only stoked the fire in my gut. A wild, breathless laugh escaped me—a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph. "Up!" I commanded, leaning over him, my body a shadow cast by the moonlight pouring through the window. My skin felt electric, humming with the need to bridge the final gap between us. "I didn't bring you here to sleep, darling. I brought you here to be broken." As I hovered above him, the anticipation was a physical weight in my chest. The hunt was over; the feast was about to begin.