Page 10 of Keller

"I spent a lot of time here as a kid. My mom is the reason we became members of Argentum. They own it now."

Quinn turns, her back against the doorframe. "I really like that you know about this place, and that it's connected to your mom. She sounds like a neat person."

Was. But I don't correct her.

"I pay attention to things that interest me."

Her gaze holds mine. "Is that so?"

Like you.

The words don't leave my mouth, but the silence says them, anyway. Quinn doesn't move or look away as the air between us thickens.

I step closer. Not crowding, just close enough that she would have to make a deliberate choice to move away. She doesn’t. My hand braces against the doorframe beside her head, not touching her, close enough to claim the space.

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s so.”

My hand slides from the doorframe to her waist, and I pull her in. She gasps into my mouth, the sound swallowed as I kiss her.

Her hands fist in my white jacket, wrinkling the fabric as she drags me closer. I walk her back a step into the storage room and kick the door until it sits mostly closed. The shelving presses into her spine, and she arches toward me, hips tipping forward.

“This is insane,” she says against my mouth.

I stop long enough to look at her. “Do you want me to stop?”

Her breath stutters. “No.”

My hand moves up her thigh, under the green silk. She makes a low sound when my fingers slide higher, her leg shifting instinctively to give me room.

“This isn’t something I normally do.”

I don’t comment. I just lean in again and kiss her, slower this time. Her hands slide up into my hair, tugging hard enough to break my restraint. My pulse kicks when she does it.

“Tell me what you want,” I say.

“You,” she says, quick and certain. “Now.”

Fuck yeah.

I cup the back of her neck and kiss her deeper, my thumb pressing where her pulse jumps. Her nails rake my scalp, and she exhales a sound that tightens everything in my body.

My hand finds the zipper at her back. I draw it down in one clean pull, and the silk parts beneath my fingers. She shivers when I trace the line of her spine with my middle finger.

“You’re good,” she says, breath rough.

“I’m paying attention.”

She nods once. “Keep doing that.”

I slide the dress up her hips, and she presses herself into me without hesitation. The friction draws a sharp breath from both of us. My body reacts instantly, hard and demanding, the need pushing low, tenting my pants. I adjust my stance, not subtle, because there is no hiding it now.

Her hands shove my jacket off my shoulders. It hits the floor in a soft thud, dust motes dancing up in the light shining in from outside.

She drags my shirt free, and her palms skim my ribs, my stomach, skin on skin. My teeth close gently at the base of her throat, and she laughs once, breathless, then stills.

“Keller.” My name lands differently when she says it like that. “We need to?—”

I stop.