Dante claps my shoulder as he passes me, heading for the keg. “Handled.”
I move straight to Talia.
“You okay?”
She nods quickly. Too quickly. Her eyes search mine, reading the tension I carried in from the parking lot.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Dante got him.”
I don’t believe she’s fine. But I step aside, letting Clara hook her arm through Talia’s and pull her deeper into the house, away from the door.
The team claims the biggest couch in the room—L-shaped, sagging heavily on one end. Dante takes the corner. Cole sprawls across half the middle. Gio flings himself onto the far cushion.
I take the end seat, the armrest. Lowest traffic, best sightline to the door.
Talia hovers nearby. She moves to sit on the arm of the couch next to me.
Zoë appears out of nowhere, holding a red cup, dancing backward as someone bumps into her. The room is packed, bodies colliding.
“Whoops!” Zoë laughs, staggering slightly.
She knocks into Talia. Not hard, but enough.
Talia loses her balance. She stumbles back—
And lands square in my lap.
She freezes.
So do I.
The contact is electric, igniting every nerve ending in my body. Her soft curves mold against my hard angles, a perfect juxtaposition that sends my pulse racing. The intoxicating scent of peppermint and vanilla wraps around me, pulling me deeper into this moment.
“I—I’ll move,” she whispers, her hands pressing against my chest as if to create distance.
But before I can think, my hand finds her hip, fingers digging into the denim of her jeans, anchoring her in place.
“Stay.” The word rumbles from my chest, reverberating against her back, demanding her presence.
She freezes, the world around us blurring as time slows. The music fades into a distant thud, while my heart hammers against my throat, pulsing in rhythm with the warmth radiating from her body. She shifts slightly, seeking comfort, her bottom brushing against my thighs, igniting a heat that spirals down my spine—raw and jagged.
I lean closer, lips grazing the shell of her ear, my breath hitching. “Please, stop doing that.”
A shiver runs through her, and she stills—then shifts again, testing the boundaries of this charged space between us.
My breath breaks on a curse. “Fuck.”
I reach up with my free hand, gripping her other hip, pulling her closer until we’re flush against each other, feeling the undeniable hardness of me pressed against her softness. I’m not grinding, not crude; I refuse to ruin this fragile intimacy, but it’s becoming nearly impossible to contain the desire surging through me.
Her sharp inhale pierces the tension, and her fingers dig into my thigh for balance, clinging to me as if I’m her lifeline. The heat in my gaze is molten, a silent promise that hangs heavy between us.Can’t you feel that? It’s yours.
Around us, the conversation morphs into a war room, voices rising and falling like waves. Clara, Adrian, Zoë, Maya, Genny, Dante, Cole, and Gio are deep in strategy, plotting a coordinated strike against my father.
“He relies on the booster gala for quarter-four funding,” Genny types, her focus razor-sharp.
“I can pull the donor list,” Maya adds, eyes glinting with determination. “See who actually has liquidity.”
But I can’t hear them—not with Talia’s warmth enveloping me, her body a soothing weight in my lap. The heat radiating from her skin seeps into my clothes, melding us together, while her heartbeat thrums against my chest, a steady reminder of her presence.
