His fingers brush mine where my other hand rests on my knee. “No. Everything I’m saying is true. And what I am feeling… it scares me.”
The room feels smaller. “Why would that scare you?”
Long seconds pass before he answers. He stands, pacing the narrow space between servers. “My parents died when I was fourteen.”
I already know this from Sadie, but I let him tell me.
He stops pacing, facing me. “Ansel handled it by taking control of everything. Enzo pushed everyone away so he couldn’t get hurt again. And I learned to make people comfortable. To be whatever they needed so they wouldn’t leave.”
This is something I have already witnessed firsthand, but his trusting me enough to say this out loud makes warmth spread through my chest. “That’s exhausting. Being what everyone needs instead of who you are.”
Breck nods. “If everyone thinks I’m fine, they don’t look deeper.”
I stand, moving closer to him. “Breck?—”
His hands curl into fists at his sides. “And being real with people is fucking terrifying. Because I’m terrified you won’t like the real me.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but his confession was all I needed to hear to finally act on the tension that’s been building between us.
I close the distance between us and kiss him.
He freezes for half a second, then his hands come up to cup my face, and he’s kissing me back like he’s been starving for it.
This kiss isn’t tentative or testing. It’s desperate and everything I’ve been wanting since that night at the bar.
His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head back so he can deepen the kiss. I grab his shirt, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound low in his throat that makes my thighs clench.
He walks me backward until my back hits the cool metal of a server rack. His body presses against mine, solid and warm, and I can feel every hard line of him through our clothes. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw, down the column of my throat. I tilt my head back, giving him access. Each press of his lips, each scrape of teeth leaves me more desperate. He moves lower, and the rasp of his stubble against my collarbone makes my back arch involuntarily, my body seeking more contact.
“Tell me to stop,” he says between kisses. “Tell me this is a mistake.”
My hands slide under his shirt, finding warm skin and hard muscle. “It probably is. I don’t care.”
He lifts his head, eyes dark and intense in the red emergency lighting. One word from me, and he’ll stop.
I pull him down for another kiss. “Stop thinking.”
He does. His hands grip and explore, fingers pressing into soft flesh like he’s trying to prove I’m real. My blazer hits the floor. His shirt follows. There’s nothing careful about how we touch each other, like we both know this moment matters, that it’s the line we can’t uncross. His fingers work at the buttons of my blouse, while his lips trail kisses along my neck. “You’re so beautiful. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”
Breathless, I manage, “Only weeks?”
He pauses, looking up at me. “Okay. Months. Since the first day.”
My blouse joins the growing pile of discarded clothing, and then his hands are on my skin, warm and sure. He lifts me, and my legs wrap around his waist automatically. He carries me to the workstation, clearing the surface with one arm and setting me down on the edge. The metal is cold against the back of my thighs, but I don’t care because Breck is standing between my legs, and his hands are everywhere.
His fingers work at the clasp of my bra. “Anyone could walk in once the lockdown ends.”
I pull him closer, and he groans. “Then let’s make the time we have count.”
My bra hits the floor, and then his mouth is on my breast. I arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to me. His tongue circles my nipple before his teeth graze the sensitive peak, and the combination makes me cry out.
His hand slides up my thigh, under my skirt, fingers tracing the edge of my underwear with maddening lightness. Every nerve ending in my body is focused on that touch, on the promise of more.
I rock my hips, seeking more, seeking anything. “Breck, please…”
His fingers brush over the lace. “I’ll give you everything you need.”
I grab his wrist, guiding his hand where I want it.
