My expression is not.
“Get a hold of yourself, Rina,” I whisper. “You’re stronger than this. You don’t need him.”
The pep talk sounds empty.
A lie I’ve rehearsed too many times.
Another hour. Ninety minutes at most. Then I can go home, pour a drink, and pretend tonight never happened.
Once I’m back under control, I square my shoulders, inhale deeply, and push through the door. Only to stop short when I find Oliver waiting in the hallway. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, suit jacket open, the top button of his shirt unfastened. The low light catches his sharp jaw as his gaze pins me in place.
Before I can gather my thoughts, he moves. One long stride, then another, and he’s in front of me. His hands wrap gently around my arms, firm but careful, as he guides me backward through the door.
He clicks the lock behind us.
“What are you doing?” I snap, voice shaking. It’s not fear that has me trembling but the charge that seems to spark whenever we’re close.
He doesn’t move or even blink.
A shiver slides through me.
“Oliver.” I edge back until the wall is cool against my spine. His nearness fills the space with a mix of heat and barely restrained fury.
Every rational thought scatters like dust in the wind.
I should be afraid.
But fear never comes into it. Just the molten, familiar pull that starts low and deep in my core before spreading through me like wildfire.
“It’s over,” I manage. “We’re both out with other people. Whatever we had is done.”
His mouth curves, but not with amusement.
It’s possession.
“Neither of us are on dates.” He steps closer, until there’s barely space between us. “And we’re not over, baby.”
My body goes still as the air hangs heavy, thick with truths I can’t bear to admit.
To him… or myself.
His head dips, mouth hovering over mine. “As far as I’m concerned, we’ve barely scratched the surface.”
His fingers trace the line of my jaw. Even though the touch is light as a whisper, it shoots straight through me, sparking along every frayed nerve. His thumb skims the edge of my lip, coaxing it open until I exhale without meaning to.
As much as I know I should stop him—at the very least, push him away—I don’t.
Because every inch of me is tired of pretending I don’t want this.
That I don’t want him.
When his mouth collides with mine, the impact destroys what’s left of my resolve. Heat, hunger, and years of denial detonate in a single kiss. His hand slides into my hair, angling me closer, while mine fists his shirt, pulling him in until there’s nothing left between us.
It’s reckless.
Dangerous.
Everything I promised myself I’d never want again.
