"Are you seriously—" She stops, reading my face. "You thought I wasn't coming."
I don't answer.
This need I have for her has outgrown language.
Outgrown logic.
Outgrown me.
I don't control it anymore. It controls me.
Woven into marrow and muscle and thought. It's structural now, and I exist inside it.
"I got held up," she murmurs. "Staff wanted to discuss menu options. Couldn't exactly say, sorry, I have to go fuck my fake bodyguard in the garage."
Almost a smile. "Nice to see my suffering amuses you."
She reaches up, fingers brushing through my hair. "You look terrible."
"Thanks."
"When did you last sleep?"
"Define sleep."
I've been running on fumes for forty-eight hours. Lying awake,replaying every moment of her. Every conversation. Every touch. Like an addict searching for a fix in a stadium full of people.
"I thought maybe I pushed too hard," I manage. "The other night. The restraints. The?—"
"Stop." Her palm flattens against my chest.
"It wasn't too much." Her eyes hold mine. "It was exactly what I needed."
I exhale. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She rises on her toes, lips brushing the corner of my mouth. "I've been replaying it for two days. Wanting more."
She pulls my neck down, kissing below my ear before her tongue flicks out.
"I need you."
My entire body shudders. "You can't say things like that right now."
"Why not?"
"Because I've been losing my mind." I grip her hips, tugging her closer. "And we need to talk about New York."
"So talk."
"I can't think when you're looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want to suck me dry."
She smiles, and the sight nearly drops me to my knees. "Maybe I do."
"Keira."
