I close the distance and press my mouth against hers. Not gentle, not tentative, nothing about this is tentative. She tastes like coffee and salt and the sound she makes against my lips, a short, bitten-off noise in the back of her throat, goes straight through me and lands somewhere south of my belt.
She kisses me back. Her fingers grip the back of my neck and pull me in, and her mouth opens and her tongue finds mine and the kiss turns into something with teeth and pressure and her hips press forward against mine and she feels me, hard against her stomach through two layers of fabric, and she doesn't pull away. She rolls her hips. Once. A slow, intentional grind that drags her body against the length of me, and my hands tighten on her waist hard enough to leave marks, and a groan comes out of me that I couldn't stop if I had a gun to my head.
"Fuck," she breathes against my mouth.
"Yeah."
"We should stop, this is bad news bears.”
"I agree." I push my cock harder into the curve of her stomach.
"Fuck me, ughhhh."
She grinds against me again. Harder this time, and my hand slides from her waist to her hip and pulls her in and the friction through our clothes is enough to make my vision go white at the edges. She's panting now, her forehead against mine, her fingers digging into the back of my neck, and I can feel the heat coming off her through the fabric of her jeans and she's wet, she has to be, because the way she's moving isn't casual anymore, it's urgent and rhythmic and she's chasing something and using my body to get there.
I slide my hand down from her hip and press my palm flat against the front of her jeans, cupping her through the denim, and the sound that comes out of her is loud and raw and the best thing I've ever heard.
"Fuck, yes, oh my God," she moans as she dry humps me.
I press harder, my cock leaking through my boxers and my shorts, using all my will power not to push her onto the mat and shove it in her pussy. Instead, I take a breath and focus on her. My fingers find the seam of her jeans and work against it, rubbing through the fabric, and she bites my bottom lip hard enough that I taste copper and her body shudders against meand I'm about thirty seconds from losing my mind entirely when my phone goes off.
Not a ring. The specific buzz pattern that means Leone. Three short, one long. Emergency protocol.
I freeze. She freezes. We stand there, breathing hard, foreheads together, my hand between her thighs, her fingers on my neck, and the phone buzzes again on the bench where I left it.
"That's probably your boss," she says, panting.
"I know."
"You should answer it."
"I know."
"If you don't answer it, I'm going to finish what we started and then I'm going to be pissed at myself for the rest of the day, and I don't need that on top of everything else."
I pull my hand away. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess, and I don't possess much. She steps back and her cheeks are flushed and her chest is heaving and her eyes are dark and furious, not at me, at the phone, at the timing, at the universe for what just happened between us.
I grab the phone. "What."
Leone's voice is clipped. "War room. Now. Both of you."
"Both of us?"
"You and Savannah. Kreiss moved. We've got forty-eight hours, maybe less. Get up here."
The line goes dead.
I look at her. She's already rewrapping her hand wraps, pulling the fabric tight, jaw set, eyes hard. The woman who was grinding against me ten seconds ago is gone.
"What now?" she asks.
"Kreiss. Leone wants us in the war room."
"Us?"
"You heard the man."
She undoes the wraps and drops them to the floor, grabs her water bottle, and walks past me toward the stairs. At the bottom step she stops and looks back at me.
