His body pressed against yours, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist — no wife, no rules, no guilt. Just you and the man who was already too far gone.

"You think I care about her?" he rasped against your ear, his voice so raw it made your whole body shiver. "Baby, she could walk in right now and I still wouldn't stop."

You gasped as his hands roamed your bare thighs, rough and desperate like he couldn't get enough of you. His mouth brushed against your neck, your jaw, your lips — kissing you like he needed you to breathe.

"I don't love her," he whispered, forehead pressed against yours. "I never did." His hand slid up under your shirt, feeling the way your body arched for him, craving his touch. "You," he growled, "you're the only thing I f*cking care about."

And you could see it in his eyes — not the calm, polished man the world knew — but the raw, broken, yours version of him.

He cupped your face with both hands, holding you like you were something sacred, something he worshiped. "I'm gonna ruin everything for you," he said, voice shaking with emotion. "My marriage, my life, my name — I don't care. I’ll burn it all down if it means keeping you."

Then he kissed you — not sweetly, not carefully — but with the reckless, consuming love of a man who had made his choice.

You were it. You were everything. And he was ready to destroy the world just to stay tangled up in you.