“Are you nervous?”
“Totally. But don’t stop.”
I wouldn’t dreamof stopping now.
When I finally sink into her, we both freeze. The sensation is overwhelming, perfect, and exactly right.
“Okay?” I manage to ask.
“Better than okay.”
We move together with increasing urgency—slowly at first while we find our rhythm, then faster, harder. The desk creaks beneath us ominously. I don’t care. She doesn’t care. There’s only this moment and this connection.
Her head falls back, and I kiss the exposed line of her throat, feeling her pulse racing frantically under my lips.
“Look at me,” I say roughly.
Her eyes open and meet mine directly. The need in her gaze nearly undoes me completely.
“Tell me this isn’t just part of the act,” I whisper against her mouth.
She tenderly cups my face with both hands, kissing me softly and slowly. “It’s not an act. It’s never been an act.”
I kiss her harder and move faster. She clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in her world. When she comes apart beneath me while gasping my name, I follow seconds later. Everything goes white at the edges. There’s nothing but her and us, and I never want this perfect moment to end.
We stay wrapped around each other as our breathing gradually slows. Her face is buried in my neck. My hands are tangled in her hair. I can feel her heart racing against my chest.
Reality is going to crash back at any second. I know it is. But for now, there’s just this perfect bubble of us.
“That was—” She starts to say.
“Yeah.”
“We just—”
“Iknow.”
She pulls back to look at me. Her hair is a complete mess. Her lipstick is gone. She’s never looked more beautiful to me.
“What are we doing?” she asks quietly.
“I have no idea.”
“Daniel—”
“I know. This complicates everything. I know.” I cup her face gently in both hands. “But I can’t regret it. I won’t regret it.”
“You should regret it.”
“But I don’t. Do you?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “No. I don’t regret it either.”
We stay there for another minute, neither of us moving an inch. Then she carefully unravels herself from me. She finds her dress on the floor and starts putting herself back together with shaking hands.
I do the same, buttoning what’s left of my shirt and finding the scattered buttons, trying to look less like someone who just had sex on a desk.
“I should go,” Bailey says when she’s dressed.
