“No, what?” I ask.
Her voice goes weak.
“No… complications.”
I trace my knuckle along her jaw. Slow. Deliberate. Claiming.
“Too late.”
She exhales like I’ve undone her spine.
“Bryce…”
“You don’t scare me,” I murmur. “Losing you would.”
Her eyes close. Her body leans. Her restraint snaps.
She grabs my shirt and pulls me in. Our mouths crash. Heat. Nails. Breathless urgency.
I walk her backward until her spine hits the wall. She gasps. I swallow it.
My hands grabs her ass. She moans into my mouth and I damn near lose it.
Her voice breaks between kisses. “This is a bad idea.”
I grip her hips. Hard.
“Then we’ll be bad.”
She laughs once, wrecked. Then pulls me back in.
Clothes start coming off. Buttons popping. Breathing uneven. Hands everywhere. Want building so strong it borders pain.
She pulls back just enough to whisper, desperate:
“Bed.”
I lift her. Her legs wrap around me. She bites my lip.
I carry her to her bed.
And everything after stops being rational.
I lay her down on the mattress and she looks up at me with that wild, wanting fire that ruins every ounce of discipline I used to have. My body is already there, already hers, before either of us says another word. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers tracing muscle like she’s memorizing me again… not rushed, not hesitant, but claiming.
She exhales, voice barely sound. "I shouldn’t want this as much as I do."
"Yeah?" I settle over her, bracing my weight so she feels me everywhere but isn’t crushed. "Then stop wanting it."
She huffs a breath that sounds like a laugh and a curse tangled together. "Impossible."
"Good," I murmur, kissing her again, slow this time, deep and consuming.
I begin to take off her clothes with my teeth, teasing her skin with my tongue as it begins to be revealed.
"Bryce, you're driving me crazy." She starts to take her own sweater off.
"Slow down, Annabelle, we have all night."
