I refill our wineglasses, and he leads me to the couch. With a click of a button, the gas fireplace roars to life. I sink to one end, and he settles right beside me, close enough that our legs touch. The jazz has shifted to something slower—a saxophone weaving through piano chords.
“In this game, we both lose, Addison. Neither of us wins. Do you understand?”
“I know you’re hiding something. I know you can’t tell me what it is. I know this probably ends with both of us broken to shreds and me getting on a plane to New York, wishing I’d never met you.” I turn to him. “For some reason, I don’t give a fuck about that.”
His jaw tightens, and he stares at me for a long moment. The worried prince disappears. What’s left is a hungry man, looking at me like I’m his last meal.
Maybe, in a way, I am.
“We cannot cross the line,” he says, but his hand reaches out, and his fingers trail along my jaw.
“Then stop,” I say.
“I can’t.” His thumb sweeps across my cheekbone, and I lean into his palm. “You should go. You should get up and walk out that door.”
“I should,” I say, my eyes fluttering closed.
The sound he makes is almost pained. “You make me weak.”
“I want you so fucking bad,” I whisper, and it comes out like a confession.
He moves so fast that I don’t have time to react. One second, we’re sitting side by side; the next, his mouth is on mine, and his hand is in my hair, and I’m being kissed like he’s been searching for me for years. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He tastes like wine and want. I open my mouth to let him in deeper. His tongue slides against mine, and I make a sound I don’t recognize.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my lips.
Louis groans into the kiss, and his hands find my waist, lifting me onto his lap like I weigh nothing. I straddle him, my dress riding up mythighs, and when I settle against him, I feel exactly how much he wants me too.
I roll my hips, and his head drops against the couch. The desperate, wrecked look on his face makes me feel powerful.
“You’re going to destroy me,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing I probably will.
He lays me on my back, his body pressing mine into the leather. The weight of him between my legs feels better than it should. His lips trail down my jaw to my neck. His teeth graze my pulse, and I arch into him, fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Louis.” His name comes out broken.
“I want to worship every inch of you.” He kisses the hollow of my throat.
“Do it,” I tell him.
He laughs against my skin, and the vibration travels through me.
His fingers find the top button of my dress, and he pauses, meeting my eyes, like he’s memorizing me. He undoes the first button, then the second. His mouth follows, pressing hot kisses to every inch of skin he reveals. By the fifth button, I’m trembling, so needy for him. By the tenth, I’m pulling at his shirt, needing more.
He sits up long enough to yank the fabric over his head, and I press my palms flat against his chest. Hard muscles trail down to that V. He kisses me deep and slow while his hand slides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher.
“We have to stop,” he murmurs against my mouth.
His fingers trace the edge of my underwear, and my hips lift toward him.
“Don’t make me beg …” I lose the thought when his thumb presses against me through the fabric.
He does it again, and I whimper.
“We’re losing control,” he whispers, kissing me softly.
Moans escape my lips, and if he keeps going, I will crumple under his touch. As if he can read my mind, he pulls his hands away. The lack of him makes my body ache. I hold his stare, begging him with my eyes. It’s not enough to convince him to give me what I need.
