“Jesus, sweetheart,” I breathe against her lips. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I do.”
And then she climbs fully into my lap, swinging one leg over me, straddling me with an ease that destroys every boundary I tried to build. Her soft curves press into me, and my self-control fractures clean down the middle.
“Shiloh…” My voice is gravel. “We shouldn’t.”
She shakes her head, cupping my face. “I want you. Please.”
Her plea is a low, nervous thing, and it undoes me more thoroughly than anything else ever could.
I kiss her again, slow at first, trying to keep some part of me grounded, but she responds with a needy, desperate softness that turns the kiss into something deeper, hotter, wilder. Her hips shift over mine, and the sound she makes—quiet, breathy, involuntary—rips straight through me.
My hands find her waist, sliding beneath her shirt, fingertips brushing her soft skin. She shivers, arching slightly, chest pushing into me.
“Cole…” she breathes, voice breaking on my name.
That shatter is my undoing.
I lift her in my arms without thinking, her legs wrapping around my waist, fingers gripping my shoulders, mouth on mine as I carry her back toward the bedroom at the far end of the office.
The door swings shut behind us.
I set her down on the nightstand, not gently, but not harshly either—just enough to make her breath hitch with a sound that goes straight to my blood.
Her thighs part under my hands without hesitation, like her body is already reaching for me. I step between them, pressing my hips to hers, and her head tips back with a low, shaky exhale that punches through my last scrap of restraint.
“You sure about this?” I murmur, breath hot against her neck.
She nods, her fingers already tugging at the buttons of my shirt. “I’m sure. I want you. I want this.”
She looks at me with this raw, fearless honesty that makes me feel like I’m falling. Like I’ve been falling for years and only now understand it.
I capture her mouth again as I peel her shirt up and over her head, revealing warm skin, soft curves, and the swell of herbreasts lifting with every trembling breath. I drag my hands down her sides, slow enough to feel the shiver roll through her.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” I murmur into her skin, kissing down the slope of her shoulder, and she makes a sound—soft, disbelieving, almost relieved.
“Cole…”
I unhook her bra, letting the straps fall down her arms. When the cups loosen, she instinctively crosses her arms to cover herself, but I catch her wrists gently and shake my head.
“No,” I whisper. “Don’t hide from me.”
Her eyes soften, and she lowers her arms.
And god, she’s perfect.
Soft, full curves that beg to be touched. I cup her breasts, feeling her breath stutter, nipples tightening under my thumbs. She gasps, gripping the edge of the nightstand, hips shifting involuntarily.
“You like that?” I ask.
“Y-yes.”
I do it again, slower this time, and she moans—quiet but sharp, like she’s been holding that sound inside for years.
I drop to my knees between her thighs.
She freezes. “Cole—“
