She stares at me, eyes wide and pupils dilated, horrified and aroused all at once.
“I’m your top supporter. Every night you were on, I was there. Every time you wore that little red lace number, you were thinking of your fans. But I was thinking ofyou.”
“You’re insane,” she breathes.
“Only about you, mi reina.”
I close the last bit of distance between us. Her back hits the wall, and I press my hand beside her head, caging her in. She doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t scream.
Because part of her likes it.
The power. The heat. The obsession.
“You could fire me for this,” she whispers.
“I won’t,” I promise. “But I’ll fuck you for it.”
She lets out a strangled sound, her eyes narrowing even as her thighs shift to press tightly together. I can see her resolve crumbling, breath by breath. I want to break down her barriers and strip her bare. I want to see every part of her she keeps locked away. I won’t run from it. I’ll fucking embrace it.
“You think I’m lying to you. That you’re just another fleeting romance,” I murmur, voice against her cheek. “But the truth is, you’ve been luring me in from the start. Every sigh. Every stretch. Every time you walked into my office like you didn’t know exactly what that skirt was doing. I think you wore it just for me, didn’t you?”
She shudders, and that’s confirmation enough.
“Tell me to stop,” I say.
She doesn’t, only licks her lips and meets my eyes with a challenge in her gaze. Almost like she doesn’t quite believe me.
So, I kiss her.
Hard.
Not soft or gentle or sweet because that’s not what she needs. She’s been screaming that into the void, and no one has noticed. Not until me. She needs the truth. The fire that’s been eating us both alive.
My hand tangles in her hair, angling her mouth to take more. Her lips part with a needy sound, and I drink her in like I’ve been dying of thirst.
She kisses me back like she’s finally letting herself break. Her hands fist my shirt, yanking me closer, dragging me down with her. A low groan leaves the back of my throat as my cock hardens painfully.
When I pull back, her lips are swollen. Her eyes are wild and glassy. She looks drunk. Drunk on me.
“I know it’s you,” I whisper again, reminding her as I brush my mouth along her jaw and throat. “And I don’t want justCurvyBabe.I wantLety.I want both of you.” She is the same person, but also different. I won’t force her to choose one over the other. I’m a greedy bastard. I will take both.
“You’re an asshole,” she says, voice wrecked. Yet she doesn’t pull away. Her body arches to me, as she traps my leg between her thighs.
“Say you want this.”Say you want me.
“I don’t want this.”Lie.Almost a good one, if her voice hadn’t come out breathy and her hand didn’t trail over the hard muscles of my chest. Again, my cock twitches in interest, desperate to be buried deep inside of her.
For a moment, I have her. She’s mine. Acceptance glows in her eyes.
But then something snaps in her. She dons a mask like she’s been doing every damn day, putting up walls that had been so close to tumbling down mere moments ago. Her hand presses flat against my chest, using force to push me back. I stagger, but mostly out of confusion.
“I have to go.”
“Lety—” I reach for her, but she dodges my grasp, grabbing her purse from the couch and putting it between us like a barrier.
“Let me go, César.This”—she gestures between us—“is too much. I need to go. Need to clear my head. You just dropped a fucking bombshell on me and expect me to just recover? Well, I can’t. I need time to think. Let me go.”
Every part of me wants to argue. To make her understand why this—us—is right. How could she not feel what is happening between us? Maybe she did and her first instinct is to run from it. But keeping her here will only hurt her, and that’s the last fucking thing I want to do. So, for now, I have to let her go to win her heart.
