She didn’t give Sloane time to answer.
Before the last word fully left her mouth, Reese leaned in and kissed her, sure and warm, with the kind of confidence that made it clear she’d been thinking about this all night. All season. Her free hand settled at Sloane’s waist, steadying them both as their mouths met, the impact immediate and disorienting. The heels bumped softly against Sloane’s thigh, grounding her just enough to notice how the hallway tilted, how everything narrowed to the press of Reese’s lips and the heat gathering low in her belly.
Too good. The kiss was too good for Sloane to process all at once. It bypassed thought entirely, lighting her up before she had the chance to resist. She’d been fighting this—them—for far too long, and her body seemed relieved to finally stop pretending otherwise.
“Inside?” Reese murmured against her mouth.
Sloane nodded, fumbling the key card from her bag. Reese took it from her, opened the door in one smooth motion, and then they were inside. Reese’s arms were already around her, walking her backward, kissing her without breaking rhythm.
Holy hell. Her brain couldn’t catch up with her body. They were a hurricane, colliding in a rush of urgency and want.
“What are you doing to me?” Reese breathed, just before her mouth found Sloane’s neck.
Sloane’s head tipped back on instinct. Her fingers slid into Reese’s thick hair—hair she’d imagined gripping for weeks—and the sensation sent a desperate, needy pulse through her. Her center throbbed, almost painfully so.
She slid her hands to Reese’s hips and stopped them both, not to pull away, but to anchor the moment. Reese stilled immediately, breath warm against Sloane’s skin, waiting. That alone did something intense to her.
Sloane leaned in and kissed her, slower this time, deeper, letting herself feel it fully. Reese made a quiet sound of approval and melted into her, but Sloane kept the pace, kept control. It felt good. She threaded one hand into Reese’s hair and tugged just enough to make the point, just enough to make Reese’s breath hitch.
There. That reaction. That was hers.
She walked Reese back a step, then another, until Reese’s shoulders brushed the door. Sloane pressed closer, letting Reese feel exactly how affected she was, how little distance remained between intention and action.
“Tonight was torturous,” Sloane murmured against her mouth. “You and those bare shoulders.”
Reese smiled, slow and wicked. “I was hoping you’d do something about it.”
Oh, Sloane wanted to.
She kissed her again, open-mouthed and sure, hands roaming now with purpose, along Reese’s arms, her waist, memorizing heat and shape and the way Reese leaned into every touch like she’d been waiting for permission she no longer needed. Reese’s heels slipped from her fingers and hit the carpet with a soft thud, forgotten.
The sound made them both laugh, quiet and breathless, until Sloane was kissing her again, harder this time, her tongue in Reese’s mouth, momentum surging back into place. Desiregathered low and intense in her body, tossing away her every inhibition.
Yes. This was still a hurricane. But now Sloane was standing in the center of it, choosing not to step aside.
Reese’s hands were at Sloane’s waist when they stilled, the room settling into a taut, expectant quiet.
Her fingers slid along the seam of Sloane’s dress, slow enough that Sloane felt every inch of it. The zipper moved with a soft, unmistakable sound.
Sloane sucked in a breath.
Reese didn’t look down. She watched Sloane’s face instead, tracking the reaction, the flicker of something unguarded crossed Reese’s features before control snapped back into place.
“Still okay?” Reese asked, low and steady.
Sloane nodded once. Then she reached back and finished unzipping the dress herself, the motion decisive. The fabric loosened, cool air brushing skin that had been held too tight all evening.
Reese’s jaw tightened, no longer playful. Focused. Hungry. Her gaze locked on Sloane’s breasts as they were revealed, bare under the low hotel light.
“Fuck,” Reese breathed, the word rough and low. “Look at you.”
Sloane stepped closer, closing the last breath of space between them, letting Reese feel the heat radiating off her skin. She tilted her head, voice soft but coated with challenge. “What do you want to do?”
Reese’s hands rose, slower this time, palms hovering just shy of contact like she was savoring the anticipation. Then they settled—firm, warm, thumbs tracing the soft outline in a slow, deliberate sweep. “I’ve been thinking about getting my mouth on them,” she murmured, eyes dark and unwavering on Sloane’sface. “About how they’d feel under my tongue. How you’d sound when I suck hard enough to make you arch.”
Her thumbs brushed higher, circling the tightening peaks without quite touching, drawing a sharp inhale from Sloane.
“They’re perfect,” Reese added, voice dropping to a rasp. “Full. Sensitive.”
