I don’t revoke.
I open for him.
The second my tongue touches his, something inside him snaps.
A low sound rumbles out of his chest.
Surprised. Helpless.
Then he’s kissing me like he’ll die if he doesn’t get deeper.
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers tunneling into my hair, gripping just hard enough to tilt my head exactly where he wants it.
I let him think he’s in control for three whole seconds.
Then I suck his bottom lip, bite down gentle but sharp.
He groans into my mouth.
Raw, shocked, perfect.
His free hand finds my waist, yanks me closer over the console.
I taste coffee and restraint and the faintest hint of desperation.
I could crawl into his lap right now.
Could grind down until he forgets his own name.
Could mark him so thoroughly he’d have to wear a turtleneck in July.
Instead I pull back. Just enough that he chases, lips searching for mine like I stole his oxygen.
His eyes open, black and wrecked.
“I,” he starts, voice shredded.
“Vitaly,” I whisper, tracing his wet lower lip with my thumb. “Goodnight.”
I slip out of the car before he recovers the power of speech.
My legs are shaking.
My panties are a lost cause.
Behind me the engine roars, idles, roars again.
Like he’s trying to fuck the gas pedal into submission.
He sits there a full minute after I’m in my own car.
Watching me in the rearview.
Breathing hard.
Hooked.
Reeling.
