“You sure about this?” I murmur, my voice low, rougher than I mean it to be.
Her smile widens a fraction, and she tilts her chin up another inch. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”
There it is again—that quiet confidence that drives me absolutely insane. It’s like she knows she’s got me wrapped around her finger, like she’s been waiting for this moment as much as I have.
I don’t give her a chance to take back the words.
I close the distance between us in one smooth motion, my lips brushing against hers, soft and slow at first. Testing. Playful. But the second she sighs into the kiss, her hands sliding up to grip the front of my shirt, something inside me snaps.
I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, my hands tightening on her thighs as I pull her closer. She tastes like trouble—sweet and sharp and addictive as hell—and I know I’m done for.
Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer still, and suddenly, it’s not enough. The space between us, the slow and careful pace—I want more. I wanther.
But then she lets out this quiet little sound against my mouth—half laugh, half moan—and it’s like she’s grounding me all over again.
Reminding me who I’m dealing with.
Lucy.
Badass.
The boss.
She is in charge, and I love it.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her laugh is soft, breathless, and entirely too smug. “I think I have some idea.”
I shake my head, grinning despite myself, because of course she’d say that. Of course she’d be completely unfazed while I’m over here trying not to lose my damn mind.
“You’re wicked,” I murmur, my thumb brushing absently over the curve of her thigh.
“Only to you,” she quips, and I can’t help but laugh.
Her words hang in the air, playful and sharp, but there’s something else there too—something that makes my chest tighten. Before I can think too much about it, she leans in, capturing my mouth again,and just like that, I’m done thinking altogether.
This kiss is different—bolder, hungrier. Her hands slide up, tangling in my hair, and a soft sound escapes her that has my grip tightening on her thighs.
She shifts closer, knees pressing against my sides, and suddenly, I’m sinking back into the couch, her weight following me down.
“Wait a second—” I manage, but the words are lost as her lips move to my jaw, trailing heat down to the corner of my mouth, then back again.
She pulls back to smirk at me, her cheeks flushed, her breath shallow.
“What?” she asks, her tone equal parts sweet and teasing. “You said I’m wicked. Let me pretend that I am.”
I don’t get a chance to respond because her hands are on my shoulders now, pushing me gently until my back hits the cushions. She moves with me, her legs straddling my hips as she settles on top, and the shift in control is so seamless, so deliberate, it leaves me reeling.
“Jesus, Luce,” I murmur, my hands instinctively finding her waist, anchoring her in place.
“Luce,” she repeats. “Some of my best friends call me that.”
“Does that mean we’re friends?” I ask, my thumbs brushing soft, lazy circles over her waist. There’s a teasing edge to my voice, but my heart is pounding harder than I’d like to admit.
She leans in closer, her lips quirking into a half smile. “Friends?” she repeats, her voice light, almost mocking. “I don’t kiss my friends like this.”
Before I can reply, she dips her head, her mouth finding mine again, and any semblance of control I thought I had vanishes. Her kiss is deliberate, commanding, like she’s making sure I know exactly who’s in charge here. Her weight on me, her hair falling around us like a curtain—it’s too much and not enough all at once.
