His thumb brushed over my lower lip, and I drew in a sharp breath, my body reacting to him before my mind could catch up. He was so close now, his breath warm against my skin, his presence enveloping me completely. There was no escape from him—not that I wanted one.

"I know exactly how to touch you," he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher, as his fingers trailed down the side of my neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. "I know what makes you shiver, what makes your breath hitch like that..." His lips quirked into a small, knowing smile when my breath caught again, just like he said it would.

He leaned in, his mouth hovering dangerously close to mine, his voice a low rasp that sent another wave of heat coursing through me. "I know what you need, even when you try to deny it."

The tension between us was suffocating now, thick and heavy, wrapping around us like a living thing. My skin burned everywhere he touched, a slow, steady flame that threatened to consume me whole. He was right—he did know me, inside out, in ways that no one else ever could. He knew how to break me down, how to unravel me with just a few words, a single touch.

And I hated how much I loved it.

He moved closer still, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he spoke, his voice dark and full of promise. "You can't hide from me. You never could."

His hand slid around to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair, pulling me even closer until there was nothing left between us but the heat of our bodies, the electricity sparking in the air around us. My breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as his other hand found my waist, pulling me firmly against him.

"You feel that?" he murmured, his lips grazing my jaw as his hand slid lower, teasingly slow. "That's what happens when you stop fighting it—when you stop pretending you don't want this as much as I do."

I trembled beneath his touch, every nerve in my body alight with anticipation, my mind a haze of desire and need. He had this way of making me feel like I was on the edge of something dangerous, something I couldn't control, and the thrill of it was almost too much to bear.

"You're mine," he whispered against my skin, his voice so low it was barely audible, but it resonated deep inside me, settling into the very core of who I was. "And I'm yours. You know that, don't you?"

I couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to respond. All I could do was nod, my body betraying me as it pressed closer to his, my hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything.

He smiled against my neck, a soft, triumphant sound, as though he had been waiting for this moment all along—for me to stop fighting, to stop pretending I didn't need him as much as he needed me.

His lips found mine, and the world around us disappeared entirely. There was nothing left but the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his hands moved over my body like he knew exactly where to touch, exactly how to make me come undone.

Because he did.

He knew me inside out.