Fifty Shades Of Lovia
We spilled out, doors slamming, and he was on me before we hit the elevator.
Back against the cold metal wall, his mouth crashed into mine—hard, demanding, tasting of gunpowder and triumph.
His hands roamed, yanking at my tactical vest, fingers slipping under to graze bare skin.
I arched into him, nails scraping his neck, pulling him closer as the elevator dinged upward.
“Fuck, Lovia,” he muttered against my lips, teeth nipping my bottom one until I gasped. “You were lethal tonight. Watching you...”