She kisses me again, deeper this time, her hand slipping under my shirt, fingertips against my stomach.
I break. Not the kiss. My restraint.
And I don’t just stop holding back. I take.
My mouth stays on hers as I walk her backward. Her fingers fist in my shirt, holding on like she’s afraid I’ll change my mind.
I don’t.
The couch hits the back of her legs and she drops onto it, breathless, lips swollen, eyes wild.
I follow, caging her with my body.
She reaches for the hem of my shirt and I yank it over my head, tossing it somewhere I don’t care about.
Her blouse is next. I undo button by button until her bra is exposed and she gasps like she’s realizing how far this is going.
Too late.
I slide my hand behind her back and unclasp her bra in one smooth motion. She sucks in a sharp breath when the fabric falls away.
“Bryce…” she says in a soft moan.
“That sound you just made?” I growl, kissing down her throat. “I’m gonna make a hell of a lot more of them.”
She arches into me, and I can feel every point of her wanting me. Her nipples are erect, begging me to kiss them. So I do. One at a time. Licking and sucking while she whimpers. Her hips roll instinctively and I respond, pressing her down and moving with her, hard and slow.
Dry humping is an insult to what I want, what we both want, but right now it’s gasoline.
Every grind, every moan, every drag of her body against mine is wrecking us.
She clings to me like she’s already ruined and wants more.
And I’m right there with her.
Her breathing is uneven. Her lips flushed. Her pupils dark enough to drown in.
“If we cross this…” she whispers, voice shaking, “everything changes.”
I cup her jaw, thumb sweeping her cheek. “Annabelle… it already has.”
One move away from losing every boundary we pretended existed.
Then…
A loud metallic click.
The lockdown ends and the doors click open.
Suddenly reality slams back into her and she grabs her bra, scrambles to button her blouse and smoothes her clothes like she might combust if she stays any closer.
“Let’s go!” She’s demanding as she grabs her purse and coat with shaking hands before forcing us toward the exit.
“Goodnight,” she manages, voice soft but trembling.
She walks down the hallway ahead of me.
Halfway there she stops.
