“Talon,” I warn.
“Sorry,” he says, but he’s smiling.
My heart kicks hard enough to make me feel a little lightheaded.
Tomorrow we walk into a clinic and tilt his life on its axis. Tonight, the weight of that hangs between us, thick and heavy.
“I don’t want to be responsible right now,” I admit quietly. “Not with you. I want you, Talon, and I’m tired of being worried about being caught or getting in trouble. We’re both consenting adults, and I think we’re capable of keeping our cool on campus.”
Something in his face softens. He steps closer until his chest is a breath away from mine. “Then don’t,” he whispers.
I look up at him. His eyes are dark, blown wide, locked on my mouth.
“Last chance to tell me no,” he says. “You say it, I stop. I swear.”
“I’m not saying no,” I whisper.
He inhales like I just handed him oxygen. His hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek, thumb skimming the corner of my mouth. The touch is careful, nothing like the frantic grab in the closet. He traces the line of my jaw, the curve of my throat, his gaze following every move like he wants to memorize this.
“You wreck me,” he says softly. “You know that, right?”
“Good,” I say. “You started it.”
His laugh is quiet and amazed. Then he leans in and kisses me.
It’s not frantic at first. It’s slow and deep, a long kiss that feels like we’ve been holding our breath since that night at Velvet and finally let it out. His mouth moves over mine with a hunger that makes my knees want to give out.
I grab the front of his sweater for balance. He takes the hint and guides us backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I sink down onto it, pulling him with me.
He braces one hand on the mattress beside my hip, the other cupping the back of my neck, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss. His tongue slides against mine, and heat curls through me.
“Talon,” I breathe between kisses.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, lips ghosting over my jaw.
“This is already better than the closet,” I say.
He laughs into my skin; the sound vibrates through me. “Good. I would like a chance to impress you when I’m not trying to pretend we don’t exist.”
His hand skims down my side, fingers tracing the curve of my waist. Every point he touches wakes up, nerve endings sparking.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, breathing hard. “Tell me if I need to slow down,” he says. “Tell me what you want.”
I drag my hands up under the hem of his top, palms sliding over warm skin and hard muscle. He shivers.
“I want you to stop talking,” I say. “For a minute.”
He grins, wicked and fond, and kisses me again.
The world narrows to the press of his body over mine, the drag of his mouth, the weight of his hand on my thigh as he gently urges me farther back on the bed. My spine hits the pillows, and he follows, bracing himself so he doesn’t crush me.
Every move is slow but sure, a steady climb instead of a frantic grab. We explore, learning each other with hands and mouths, trading soft curses and breathless little laughs when someone finds a new nerve.
At some point, my sweater and bra end up on the floor. His shirt joins them. Skin meets skin, and the contact pulls a sound from him that I feel all the way down my spine.
“Penelope,” he whispers against my collarbone. “God, you’re…”
He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to.
