That’s the problem. This isn’t heat anymore. It’s tension—coiled, uncontained. The kind that doesn’t burn out; it snaps.
I should let go. I know that. The mission is still running in the back of my mind, the clock ticking, discipline drilled so deep it should override everything else. I tell myself this is where I stop, step back, and disappear into the room again.
My hand tightens instead.
Kate looks up at me then, eyes dark, searching—not demanding, just present—and something in my chest shifts.
“This is where you walk away, right?” she whispers, half a joke, half not.
“Fuck it,” I grunt as I guide her forward, steering us out of the press of bodies, my palm firm at her lower back as I cut a path through the room.
By the time we reach the corridor, the noise of the gala muffled behind closed doors, the decision has already been made. I reach for her hand this time, lacing my fingers through hers and pulling her with me. Her pulse jumps under my thumb, and so does mine.
This is the moment everything tilts, as I lead her toward my room, already knowing I’ll deal with the consequences later.
My room door closes softly behind us; the click of the lock is louder than it should be.
Kate stands just inside, hands at her sides, posture composed in that careful way she gets when she’s bracing for something she doesn’t know how to ask for. The light catches her face, softens the tension still clinging to her eyes. I set the camera bag down, unbutton the jacket, hang it neatly over the chair like this is any other night.
Like this is ordinary, but we both know it isn’t.
I cross the space between us, stopping close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body without touching her yet. Her breath stutters, barely there, and I watch the way her throat moves when she swallows.
This is the point where I should stop, but I don’t.
My hand comes up to her jaw, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. She leans into it like she’s been waiting for permission I was never going to give in words. I lower my lips to hers and kiss her. I take my time with her mouth, my grip firm enough to anchor her while I set the pace. She exhales against me, fingers fisting into my shirt as if she needs something solid to hold on to.
I guide her backward, step by step, until her calves hit the edge of the bed.
She sits when I press her down, eyes never leaving mine, something dark and intent flickering there. I peel my shirt open, let it fall where it may. Her gaze tracks every movement, unguarded and honest in a way that makes my chest tighten.
I pin her to the bed, my mouth following the line of her neck, the hollow beneath her ear, the place I know makes her breath hitch. Her hands slide over my shoulders, nails biting lightly as she arches into me. The sound she makes cuts straight through whatever restraint I thought I had left.
Seeing her dress as an obstacle, I take it off, followed by my own clothes until there’s nothing between us but heat, want, and the sharp awareness of how easily this could go wrong. When I lay her back against the bed, she goes willingly, trusting me to decide how far this goes.
That trust is a liability.
I hook my hands under her knees and pull her up until her pussy is aligned with my mouth, half her body off the bed. Irun a knuckle over her vulva, and she shudders, legs tightening around my neck. My mouth perfectly lands on her, her taste invading my taste buds without mercy.
“Divine.”
The word is out of me before I can stop it. I don’t miss the blush on her cheeks and the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Craving her like she’s my last meal on death row, I delve into her, giving her no breaks.
She cries, scratches, begs, and writhes under me, my name a prayer on her lips.
I take her apart slowly, my mouth and hands working her to an orgasm. I learn her again, drawing it out until her breathing fractures and her body starts responding before her mind catches up. She clings to me, legs locking around my neck, urging without asking.
I maintain my pace, and a few moments later, she comes apart on my tongue, her legs clasping around my head, holding me in place as her climax takes over her body. I let her ride it out until her legs relax.
Lowering her onto the bed, I give her no breaks as I sink into her with control I’m barely able to maintain. She gasps, nails digging into my back, and I brace myself above her, taking a second to ground us both before I move. The rhythm builds steadily—measured and relentless. I keep my forehead pressed to hers,eyes locked on her face as she comes undone beneath me, piece by piece.
There’s no pretending this is casual. There’s only heat and pressure, and the way her body responds to mine like it remembers exactly what to do.
“Oh God! James!” she screams as she breaks, hands gripping me like she might pull me under with her.
I follow not long after, control snapping cleanly, burying my face in her shoulder to keep silent as the tension tears through me.
Afterwards, the room is too still. Kate lies against the pillows, breathing slowing, eyes already heavy with sleep. A few moments later, she’s out like a light. I watch her for a moment longer than I should. She looks peaceful, unaware, and untouched by the realities pressing in around us.
