I catch her wrist without thinking. Big mistake. Her skin is warm, soft, and when she freezes, so do I.
For a beat, neither of us moves.
Then she exhales shakily, and the air between us catches fire.
Her free hand finds my shoulder — maybe to push me again, maybe not — and the tension snaps like a live wire. I dip my head. She rises onto her toes. And then it happens.
The kiss is raw, angry, messy. It’s not slow or sweet or careful. It’s heat and frustration and too many nights of pretending this wasn’t coming. Her fingers curl into the towel at my hips, and I groan against her mouth, grip tightening on her waist.
Utensils clatter off the counter, forgotten. The stove clicks off when she twists, pulling me closer. It’s chaos — breath and touchand want. Her taste — salt and something sharp, maybe regret — hits like a punch.
By the time I lift her onto the counter, we’re both shaking. She drags me closer, her apron caught between us, hands threading into my damp hair.
And just when I think I’ll lose every ounce of control I’ve got left — she pulls back, chest heaving, eyes glassy.
“Leo,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “We can’t?—”
But the wordcan’tsounds a lot likedon’t stop.
For a second, neither of us breathes. The air feels scorched, charged. My hands are still on her hips; her fingers are buried in my hair. The room tilts around us, and I can’t tell where anger ends and want begins.
She swallows hard, gaze dropping to where my towel’s barely hanging on. “This—this is insane,” she says, though her voice doesn’t sound convinced.
“Yeah,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her lower lip. “It is.”
Her eyes flutter shut, just for a beat, and I feel her fight it — the pull, the want, the loss of control. Then she breathes out, shaky, and her hands slide down my chest. The touch burns. My pulse spikes.
“Sage,” I say, voice rough, but she doesn’t let me finish. She leans in again, kissing me like she hates herself for it, like she’s trying to erase every rule she ever made. It’s messy and desperate and perfect.
The towel slips completely this time. She gasps — half laugh, half shock — and fumbles for it, clutching it with both hands to keep it from hitting the floor. The move presses her tighter against me, and I lose whatever restraint I had left.
Her back bumps the cabinet edge, the motion awkward but real as my weight shifts to brace her. The wood knocks a soft thud against her spine, grounding us both in the chaos, awooden thud muffled by the sound of our breathing. She moans softly — a sound that short-circuits every thought in my head. I kiss her harder, deeper, until I can’t tell if it’s her heartbeat I feel or mine.
Somewhere in the chaos, her apron comes loose. I catch the tie before it falls, fingers brushing skin I shouldn’t touch. Her breath catches, and the sound nearly undoes me.
“Sage,” I growled, my voice rougher than I intended. “You’re killing me.”
Her lips part, a soft gasp escaping as I press her back against the cabinet. She clutches at my shoulders, her nails digging into my flesh as I kiss her fiercely. My mouth was demanding, my tongue tangling with hers, tasting the sweetness of her breath, the hint of garlic from the meal she’d been preparing. As her apron falls away, my hands slide down her curves, gripping her hips and pulling her flush against me.
She moans softly against my mouth, the tension between us breaking into pure need without words. Everything narrows to heat, taste, the electric pull that’s been building for weeks. We move together, desperate but deliberate—the world outside the kitchen disappearing until it’s just us.
“Fuck,” I mutter against her neck, my breath hot against her skin. “I need you.”
My hand slides up her thigh, under her skirt, and she gasps as my fingers find her wetness. She is dripping, desperate, and I growl, my thumb pressing against her clit. Her hips begin to buck as the pleasure moves through her.
“Leo, please.”
I chuckle darkly, my lips brushing her ear. “Begging already? We’re just getting started.”
I pull my hand away, leaving her trembling, and she whimpers, reaching for me. But I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head. “Not yet,” I say, my voice a command. My eyeslocked on hers, intense, hungry, as I positioned myself between her legs. My cock is now thick, throbbing, pressing against her entrance.
She bites her lip, anticipation coiling tight, and I thrust inside her in one smooth motion, filling her completely. She cries out, her head tipping back, the sensation overwhelming—my size, the stretch, the heat of me buried deep. I hold myself still for a moment, our eyes locked, before I begin to move again, slow and deliberate, my hips rolling as I fuck her with a rhythm that is both punishing and perfect.
The counter creaks beneath her, the room spinning with the force of our need. She is tight around me, her walls clenching, and I groan, “Fuck, Sage, you feel so good.”
My pace quickens, my thrusts harder, more desperate, and she meets me, her body rising to mine, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
“Leo,” she moans, “don’t stop, don’t?—”
