He pulled her to the floor and ripped the lace of her dress to shreds, exposing her breasts. Uncontrollable. There was something new mixed in with their usual passion. Something animalistic. It pulled at her, at every part of her. He lifted her tulle skirt and ran his hands all over her legs. Desire was cackling in their blood and roaring under their skin like Fiendfyre. She needed him. She needed to feel him inside her so badly it hurt. Not because she loved him, not because he was attractive, not because he was good in bed. She needed him to survive like she needed air to survive. And she could tell from the way his hands roughly and frantically grabbed at every inch of her that he felt it too. The pull. The urge. The instinct. 