Christ.
I’ve never been this hard just from kissing. We have more clothes between us than we did last night, but it isn’t doing shit to curb my reaction to her. I release her wrists, needing to get my hands on her body. Goose bumps pebble across her abdomen when I snake my hand up her shirt. She kisses me harder, faster, as my fingers glide over her soft skin.
Brielle moans, her lips trailing across my jaw, her fingers raking against my scalp. As much as I want to believe I know what that sound means, something is telling me there’s more to it than I’d like.
“What are you thinking, Brielle?” I nip at her ear. Her skin beneath my fingers is the only thing keeping me grounded. If not for the feel of her, I would think this is the most beautiful dream.
“You smell like good times and bad decisions,” she groans.
I bury my face in the crook of her neck and laugh, something I didn’t think I was capable of doing quite so frequently.
“Oh yeah? How good of a time?” I tease.
“The real question is how bad of a decision?” she volleys, the chuckle in her voice keeping things light.
“That is the question, isn’t it.” My head is dizzy with want, but I’m smart enough—or foolish enough—to pull back. I sit back and take in the sight of her laid out before me like a fucking treat.
Brielle pushes herself up the bed to a sitting position as well. She eyes me with uncharacteristic reservation. The lines between us haven’t been blurred; they’ve been completely set on fire.
“I’m sorry. I—” My words are cut off by a knock on the door.
“Don’t mean to interrupt, but dinner will be ready in five,” Stephen shouts through the door.
She looks back at me and heaves out a breath, shaking her head with amusement. Her lips are kiss-swollen, her hair frazzled. She’s absolutely stunning.
Too bad she isn’t mine.
We pull up in front of her apartment building some hours later, and I get out, grabbing her bag from the trunk. She lets me walk her upstairs without fighting me on it, and I’m unreasonably grateful for that. I want to see her in, make sure she’s safe before I leave.
“So,” she starts, stopping at her door and turning to face me.
“Yup. As of tomorrow, we act like this entire thing never happened. Deal?”
“Tomorrow,” she says slowly.
“Yeah, back to work. Back to Mr. Edgerton and Ms. Collins.”
“You never call me Ms. Collins,” she laughs. I place the bag at her feet. She hasn’t made a move to unlock the door yet. My gaze roams over her face—her wide, round eyes, those long, dark lashes, her apple-like cheeks. It dips to her perfect, sultry lips, and the tension around us amplifies. “It’s not tomorrow yet.”
“We’ve already ruined this weekend. Why stop now?” My voice is gruff and low. My pulse is sending electricity through my body as I move closer. I lean forward, closing the gap to nothing more than a few inches.
She tilts her head back to meet me and swipes her tongue across her bottom lip, the taste of them gone but not forgotten. “Kiss me, Damian. Just one more time,” she whispers.
I shouldn’t. This needs to stop, but I can’t seem to help myself. Not when she’s looking at me like that, not when she tells me point-blank to kiss her.
I dip my head; every millimeter disappearing between us is completely out of my control. My lips touch hers, and fire races through my veins. I lick into her mouth, swallowing her soft sigh, letting it feed my soul. I wrap one hand around the back of her neck, the other gripping her waist. All of my senses are on Brielle overload. The feel of her hip under my hand, the scent of her skin, the taste of her lips. She surrounds me like a vortex, like the world could be ending around us right now, and I wouldn’t have a single clue.
She laces her arms around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair. I pick her up from behind her thighs, pushing her against the door as she winds her legs around my waist.
The idea that I’m supposed to forget about this, about how good she feels in my arms, her body molding to mine, is about as likely as an asteroid striking me right here in her hallway.
“Bri, that you? Are you home?”
The door that I’m bracing her against disappears in an instant, but luckily, she holds on to me for support.
Brielle slowly climbs down my body and back to her feet. Her face is flush, her breathing ragged. It’s an image that’s made a permanent home in my mind.
“Well, hello,” Holly says. “Have a good weekend, you two?”
