She finishes her drink and sets the glass aside. “Ready to leave?”
“Yup."
I pay the tab and when we leave, the night has cooled even more. She tucks her hands into her jacket sleeves.
“I can walk you,” I say.
She hesitates only a second. “Okay.”
We walk along the quiet sidewalks. Streetlights are casting warm halos. Her shoulder brushes mine once. Then again.
By the time we reach her building, she stops at the door.
“I don’t want tonight to end,” she says.
The words hit harder than a kiss would have.
Neither of us moves.
Then she turns, keys already in hand. “Come up?”
***
The elevator ride is anything but quiet.
She reaches for me the second the doors slide shut, like the restraint finally snapped. Her mouth claims mine, open and urgent, the kiss stealing the air from my lungs. There’s no easing into it this time. No checking the temperature. It’s heat on heat, breath tangling, the kind of kiss that says we both know exactly where this is going and don’t care.
My hands find her waist and pull her closer until there’s no space left to pretend. She makes a soft sound against my mouth that goes straight through me, and I groan before I can stop myself.
“Colby,” she murmurs, like my name belongs in her mouth.
The elevator dings. We don’t break apart.
We barely make it inside her apartment before we’re laughing again, breathless, tripping over each other as the door clicks shut behind us.
“We are terrible at pacing,” she says.
“Never been my strong suit,” I admit.
She tugs me back into her, palms warm, confident, sliding under my jacket like she’s done waiting for permission. The kiss deepens instantly. Slower now. Heavier. My hands skim up her sides, memorizing curves I already know but suddenly need again.
I barely register the apartment around us, just flashes of soft light and cozy corners, something unmistakably hers, before we’re shrugging off our jackets and letting them fall wherever they land.
“Nice place,” I murmur, sliding my hands to her hips. “But I’m way more interested in what’s waiting in that bedroom.”
"Me too."
The walk to the bedroom is a blur of mouths and hands and half-spoken words. She pushes me back onto the edge of the bed, eyes bright, daring, and for a second I just look at her.
God, she's sexy.
She steps closer, straddling my knees, kissing me again until the world unravels. My grip tightens on her ass, grounding myself in the feel of her because everything about this moment feels like it’s slipping deliciously out of control.
When we finally sink onto the bed, it’s not careful.
It’s need.
Clothes are discarded without ceremony. Fabric forgotten. Hands everywhere. Her breath stutters when my mouth finds her throat, when I trace kisses lower, slower, until she arches instinctively into me.
