I swallow.
The silver doors glide open with a soft chime.
We step inside.
Just the two of us.
The doors begin to close and something in the air snaps tight, like a cord pulled too far.
He stands close. It’s not inappropriate, but it’s close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him. Close enough that the scent of his cologne—clean and woodsy—wraps around me.
The elevator hums as it begins to rise. Jesse clears his throat. I pretend not to notice. My pulse does the opposite. Then he shifts, turning slightly toward me.
“Mads…” he says quietly, and now the sound of that nickname on his lips makes my entire body react like he’s whispered something sinful.
I force myself to face forward, eyes trained on the glowing floor numbers. “Hmm?”
He lets out a low breath that I feel more than hear. “About earlier. On the dance floor…”
My heart stumbles. “What about earlier?”
“Don’t tell me that was nothing.”
Oh god. I grip the railing behind me, the metal cool under my palms. “Jesse…”
“I’m not asking for anything.” He steps a fraction closer, but it feels like a seismic shift. “I’m just…acknowledging it.”
The cord between us tightens.
And suddenly I’m not breathing.
I turn my head slowly toward him, and the look in his eyes is so warm with intent, completely unguarded that it knocks me off balance. Heat crawls up my throat. “Jesse…”
The elevator dings softly as it passes another floor. Neither of us looks away.
He moves first. Just his hand, lifting slightly, as if he’s deciding whether to reach for me or stop himself.
I can see the battle in his jaw. In the faint tension at the corner of his mouth and in the way his eyes drop to mine, then to my lips, then back again.
He shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t.
But God…we’re both thinking about it.
Jesse’s eyes drag slowly down my face like he’s memorizing it.
And then…something in him breaks. Or snaps. Or gives in. I can’t tell which. But God, I feel it.
He moves before I can think, before I can breathe, before I can even finish saying his name. One second, we’re standing a polite distance apart. The next, my back hits the wall as a soft gasp escapes from my lips, his hand cupping my jaw, tilting my face up to him.
“Jesse—”
I’m not able to get the rest out before his mouth crashes onto mine with a groan so deep it vibrates through me, stealing every coherent thought from my brain. His other hand slides into my hair, fingers weaving tight, tugging just enough to make my knees buckle.
Heat floods me everywhere. He’s pressed against me, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, every hard line of his body pinning me in place like he’s been dying to do it for weeks. And maybe he has. Maybe I have too, because I grab his shirt—fist it—and pull him closer, like I need him to breathe.
He kisses me like a man starved. His thumb strokes along my cheekbone, the touch shockingly tender compared to the urgency of his mouth. His fingers grip the back of my neck, angling me exactly where he wants me, deepening the kiss until the world slides out of focus. I feel his breath against my lips as he murmurs my name between kisses, like he’s addicted to the taste of it.
