The bedroom is dark when we enter, and we keep the lights off, stumbling through the light of the moon.

Warren's impatience is distinct, so instead of making it to the bed like I've been wanting to for the past hour, he sits me down on the small table adjacent to the door, shoving the vase of roses I picked earlier this week to the ground. The sound of shattering glass doesn't bother me because Warren begins to kiss a trail across my jaw and down my neck. He stops when he reaches the collar of my leather jacket.

Frustrated that he can't go any further, I push him away and get rid of my stupid purse. I strip out of the leather jacket and my crop top so I'm in nothing but my strapless bra and my shorts. A growl of approval escapes his throat before he's back to kissing my neck. He stops at the curve, teasingly kissing and biting.

While he's causing my mind to spin out of control, I work at getting his shirt off. If he thinks he's going to get away with keeping his spectacular body away from me, he's wrong. Whatever piece of clothing I lose, he's going to lose, too.

He pulls away for a second, and my intoxicated mind is torn between pulling him back or letting him take his shirt off.

Thankfully, it doesn't take him long to close the distance again, and I find it alluring to see him wanting me this way. I never realized how tall he is or how broad his shoulders are or how his arms are heavy with lean, toned muscle. So often all I've been trying to do is push him away. I can't remember why or how I could be so stupid to do so.

He traces a finger down my spine as his lips find their way back to mine. My heart thumps wildly against my ribcage. His other hand slides up the side of my body until it's cupping the left side of my face. I shudder at the tingling sensation that spreads throughout my body. A moan spills from my lips.

Warren smiles against my mouth, and then pulls me closer to him so I can feel everything. My God – he wants me. And because there's no obvious way for me to show him how much I want him with just my body, I move my hips against his.

The groan he lets out sounds more like a feral growl, but it spurs me on.

My hands slide down his bare torso until I feel the coolness of his belt buckle beneath my fingertips. I rapidly unbuckle it. Unbutton his shorts. Unzip them. I tug them down from his hips until I can no longer reach. He finishes the job, and then my shorts are gone.

We pause for a moment, relishing in the fact that we're both in nothing but our undergarments.

And then we're moving again. His hands, my hands. We're sweating and breathing heavily and giving in to the temptations that have been luring us like a moth to the flame. I feel like I'm losing my mind in a good way.

Our hands don't cease, and the more he touches me, the more I want to feel his weight on me. I want to feel more of him. All of him.

"Warren, please," I gasp.

It doesn't take him long. Before I know it, we're both stumbling to the bed, discarding our remaining clothes. We tumble onto the mattress, the heat of our bodies adding to the flame that's already burning between us.

Warren pins my hands above my head, slamming his mouth against mine. I can't tell who the potent taste of whisky is coming from, but it's strong and intoxicating; something I would normally cringe at. But with the amount of alcohol coursing through our bloodstreams, both of us are caught up in the moment; stuck in the fire that's burning between us. His frustration, lust, and inner vulnerability clash with my sorrow, longing, and defiance in a way that ignites my blood and heightens the temptations I've been fighting.

I can't stop myself from enjoying the fact that I have him all to myself.

And then he's pulling away, reaching for his wallet from the back pocket of his jean shorts that are lying upon the floor.

I lay there, waiting for him, trying to steady my breathing as the anticipation builds.

I don't know where this longing has come from or how it ever formed, but it's strong and demanding to be embraced.

Warren's back within an instant, and when he's over top of me, he looks at me. Runs a hand through my hair. He lowers his face until his forehead is pressed against mine. I take a deep breath. This level of closeness is something I've missed; been longing for. And everything from the smell of whisky on his breath to the sandalwood smell I love to how fast his chest is rising and falling is more intoxicating than our drinks tonight.

"You drive me fucking crazy," he whispers roughly.

I wind my arms around his neck, tugging him down. "Then let's change that," I whisper.

He smiles, and then we're moving together in the most unruly and blissful way I ever imagined.