The rain lashed down, the curtains billowed, there was a definitive icy bite to the breeze that pushed in through the open window - None of which did anything to cool down the raging temperature of her skin. Even as the voice in her head pleaded her to stop, she took a greedy step towards the window, her eyes fixated as though of their own will to the sight of him standing in front of the mirror of his bedroom. To the flex of his muscles as, button by button, he loosened his shirt. To the flick of his wrist as he shrugged it off his shoulders and forearms.

It was no coincidence that he had picked this precise moment to undress in his room with the windows wide open - This was payback. Retribution for her refusal to repeat what she called her 'mistake' one drunken night. This was part of his torturous plan to get her back. So why was she here? Someone had to be the adult here and stop this. They could get caught. Her fingers gripped the edges of her pristine white lace curtains but instead of closing them with a flourish, she bit down on her lip to stop a moan from escaping as he unzipped, unaware that he had her by the balls, to borrow a colloquial phrase.

STOP, screeched the authoritative voice in her head as she involuntarily leaned gently out the window, her throat closing as she watched him slide his pants off. As she watched the glorious play of muscles in his back, the magical synchronicity to his slow yet decisive movements.

HE KNOWS YOU ARE HERE. This is part of his plan. Step back. Move away, the voice ordered. She took a teeny step back, and another and another. It was then that his hands moved to the waistband of his boxers; he pulled and her brain shut down.

Across the street, he straightened and cocked his head, never meeting her gaze in the mirror and yet she got the message loud and clear. Her skin on fire, her pulse pounding, the air between them crackling with electricity, her hands moved to the sash of her black robe and slowly undid the front. Her breath hitched as she recalled what she had on underneath; or to be precise, what little she had on underneath... A jarring crash of thunder sounded and the moment was broken. Guilt flooding her, she resolutely reached out and latched the window, drew the curtains and retreated into the darkness.

Several yards across, he straightened and his hands gripped the edges of the mirror, but there was no disappointment in his eyes. Nor the customary anger at her abject refusal of what they had between them. Tonight, he promised the guy in the mirror. Tonight.

She tossed and turned in her bed, the iciness of the thunderstorm outside doing nothing to cool her skin which felt ablaze... And exposed. She turned futilely, blinked and froze as a flash of lightning illuminated her room and the tall, muscled figure standing beside her bed, watching her movements hungrily. Her mouth dry, she flicked on the light and took in the sight of standing next to her, his shirt plastered onto every wet contour of her body.

She distinctly recalled having locked up an hour ago, which gave his presence in her room a sinister edge. Best case scenario was that he was a stalker with a psychotic obsession. Worst case was... He reached out and gently tugged the covers away from her body just as she reached forward greedily, surprised that her skin didn't singe at the first electric contact of his wet form with her overheated flesh.

With a moan of surrender, she opened up to him and his tongue immediately took possession of her mouth and somewhere within, fire began racing in her veins even as her breasts pouted invitingly. She let his weight press her down into the mattress,her brain shutting down as she allowed her senses to be assaulted by the sight, scent and feel of him. How could something that was so wrong feel so good? Or perhaps it was the fact that it was wrong that felt so good.

She let out a torturous moan as he undid her robe and left her lips to press hotter, open mouthed kisses lower and lower. Her head arched as he buried his mouth in her cleavage, taking first one in and then another, sucking and using his teeth until she was driven off the edge of sanity. She gripped the mattress, dug her toes into the mattress and helplessly called out his name, teetering on the brink off release as he continued his hot open mouthed kisses, moving lower and lower until he reached the waistband of her lace panties. Pausing to make sure that he made eye contact, he shot her a look that had sheer devilry in it as he divested her of the last barrier and nuzzled underneath.

The storm raged outside while inside, sparks shot in her head at the inferno they were creating between them. He moved up, flipped them so that she was on top and sat abruptly so that she was straddling her thighs. Surprised at the abrupt change, she put her arms around his neck for dear life and ended by pressing flesh to naked flesh in yet more intimate contact.

Revelling in the feel of his hard chest pressed to her, she moved up and then down again, slowly, rhythmically taking him in again and again. His breath hitched, he pounded in faster and just as she threw her head back to greet her release, she felt him go completely still. She gave him a shake and a desperate moan. "Say it. Admit it." She blinked; he couldn't be serious. Those Greek God features set themselves in stony resolution. "NO." She couldn't admit this, not even to herself. Something in her eyes satisfied him, for he began to move again. "Yes," he muttered on a satisfied note and began to move again, set a dangerously fast rhythm.

On the brink of release once more, she fisted both hands in his hair on either side of his head, looked him dead in the eye and said, "Yes. Yes, I love you. I want this to happen. And I love you." Elation sliced across his features and he began rocking faster, leveraging one of her legs on his shoulder as he buried himself in deep and together, they gave themselves up to the rhythm.

Outside, the storm raged on. Inside, two spent souls tasted the forbidden nature of their passion in each other, already hungering for more.