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“Christ, Sera.” His voice cracks on my name.

I scratch his back again, urging him deeper, and he gives it to me with a rough snap of his hips that drives him in deep and punches a gasp out of me.

He drives us into the grass, each stroke dragging out slow and slamming back in hard, forcing needy whimpers out of me on every one. My breasts bounce with the power while his eyes stay on my face.

Every breath from him breaks against my mouth as if his control is being stripped away every time he sinks back in.

He fucks me the way he chased me, with no room left for mercy or distance, one hand tight at my throat and the other hooked beneath my thigh, folding me open so he can get deeper. The angle changes, and he hits something inside me that makes my vision white out at the edges.

“There.” It’s out before I can stop it. “Fionn, right there, don’t you fucking dare stop⁠—”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he grits out, giving it to me exactly where I asked. “All that mouth, and all it wanted was to beg.”

I drag him closer with my nails buried in his skin and bite the side of his neck, making his rhythm falter.

When I turn my mouth against his shoulder and bite again, the grunt that leaves the back of his throat vibrates straight through me.

His hand leaves my thigh and hits the grass beside my head. Then his mouth is on mine, rough and wet and tasting of blood and grass and everything we should’ve left alone.

The pressure builds too fast, coiling low and tight until I can feel it in my teeth.

I try to fight it because giving him this feels dangerous, but my body has already chosen sides.

My back bows off the ground, and when I come, it rips through me so violently that I can’t tell if I’m moaning his name or cursing him for making me need this. I clench around him in hard, greedy waves, my thighs locked around his hips, and I don’t stop coming.

Fionn fucks me through the rush, jaw locked, breath coming faster. The hand on my throat stays in place as his whole body goes rigid above mine.

“Fuck…”

The word hisses out of him as he comes, his dick driving in deep and staying there so I feel every pulse of him spill inside me, filling me up until it slicks the tops of my thighs.

He stays over me, heavy and hot despite the cold night air. His chest drags against mine with every breath. The realization of what we’ve done presses around me, and the party might as well belong to another life.

I should be horrified. Instead, I lie there in the wet grass with a Harrington still inside me, aching, full, marked, and absolutely mortified that I want him all over again.

Fionn drags his thumb over my swollen bottom lip.

“Every time you run,” he says, his voice still rough. “I’ll catch you.”

I shove him to get off me.

“I need to get back inside,” I say when I can form words. “Eilish will be looking for me.”

He rolls sideways onto the grass with the irritating ease of a man who has absolutely no regrets, jacket abandoned, shirt god knows where, looking altogether too comfortable for someone who just had sex in his fiancée’s garden.

I sit up and pull my dress over my hips.

My underwear is nowhere to be seen, and I decide to leave it because it's windy out here, and I’m too tired to crawl through wet grass looking for scraps of lace.

He gets to his feet and offers me his hand, which I refuse. When I struggle to stand, he hooks his hands under my arms and hauls me into him.

“I’ll give you a three-minute head start,” he says. “We had a disagreement. I walked off. You were in the garden getting air.”

“I know how this works,” I say tightly. “And I certainly don’t want anyone thinking you⁠—”

“That I came inside you?” He cocks a brow. “Because I did. And you’ll walk back into that house with me still inside you.”

He bends, picks up my heels from the grass, and holds them out. “Put them on before you cut your feet.”