He’s incredible now.
My mouth opens, and his tongue meets mine, sure and hungry. I moan, loud and unashamed, arms locking around his neck as I pull him closer, erasing every inch of space between us.
“What—what are we doing?” he asks between kisses, breathless and confused, even as his erection presses hard against my thigh.
I rock into him. Beck groans, low and helpless, and the sound goes straight through me.
“If we’re fighting,” I murmur against his mouth, nipping his lower lip, “we might as well kiss while we do it.”
A short, surprised laugh escapes him before his mouth is back on mine.
“Gracie,” he breathes, torn. “This is—”
“I know,” I whisper.
There are no words for this. For the live wire of want surging through me. I rise onto my toes, kissing him again and again.
His hand flexes at my waist, then stills, like he’s holding himself back by force. The restraint makes everything throb.
I tilt my head back, and he’s there instantly, kissing along my jaw, my neck. My fingers slide into his hair, pulling him closer. My hand drops to his jeans, rubbing the hard bulge beneath them.
He whimpers.
Actually whimpers.
Something inside him snaps.
His mouth crashes back to mine, no restraint left. His hand slides up my side, under my shirt, warm and shaking, like he doesn’t quite trust himself. He slips beneath my bra, thumb brushing over my nipple, circling gently.
My back arches without permission. My breath stutters. The world tilts.
Some distant part of my brain registers where we are, the noise of the bar just beyond the hallway, people laughing, glasses clinking, but it feels unreal. None of it matters. Not now.
All that exists is Beck.
Achingly familiar. Terrifyingly new.
Like touching something I’ve wanted my whole life but was too afraid to reach for. Every boundary I built around him is crumbling, and, instead of fear, there’s relief. Desire. A certainty that settles deep in my bones.
I want this. To explore every part of him. All the places I never let myself touch because I was too scared. Not just his body, but the guarded, hidden places in his heart and mind.
Once, I thought I knew everything about him.
Now I see how wrong I was.
How long has he felt this way? Has he been stealing glances the way I have, lying awake with his heart racing, caught in the same restless dreams?
Dreams like this.
Where our bodies fit together.
Where our breath syncs and becomes one.
His entire hand cups my breast now, kneading and rubbing. He caresses my nipple, and moisture pools between my legs. I grind my pelvis against his thigh, and he presses right back. It’s breathless. Feral. Messy.
Finally, I pull away. “Take me home, Beck.”
Dazed eyes meet mine, heavy-lidded with lust. “I—I…” He hesitates, and my heart stalls. If he rejects me now, if he walks away when I’ve put everything on the line, I won’t survive it. I can’t live in a world without Beck. Not now, not after I’ve touched him, held him.
