“Do you always stand like that when you want something?” she asked.
“When I want something I can’t take, yes.”
The words landed between us.
She came closer again.
I could smell the soap from the guest room on her skin now, clean and faint beneath the last trace of lilies from the auction venue. She had washed them off as much as she could. Not enough. I wanted my shower steam on her, my sheets, my mouth between her thighs until every scent in that room was hers and mine.
Her chin lifted.
“If I kiss you,” she said, “it doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t mean I’m not angry.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t mean I’m staying because you locked the elevator.”
My hands curled once at my sides, then opened. “If you kiss me, it means you wanted to kiss me in that moment. Nothing more unless you say more.”
Nadia stared at me.
Then she closed the distance, rose on her toes, and pressed her mouth to mine.
I didn’t touch her.
For one breath, I let her have the kiss completely. Her mouth was soft, unsure, angry. She held the front of my shirt in both fists, pulling herself up because I would not pull her in.
Then she made a small sound of frustration against my lips.
“Touch me,” she said.
I broke.
My hands went to her face first, not her body. I held her cheeks, angled her mouth, and kissed her back with the control I had left.
It wasn’t enough.
Nadia opened for me, and heat went through me so hard I stepped her back against the wall before I remembered myself. Istopped with one hand braced beside her head and the other still at her jaw.
She looked up at me, breathing fast.
“I didn’t say stop,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I want too much.”
Her fingers tightened in my shirt. “I’m tired of men deciding what I can handle.”
I shut my eyes for half a second.
When I opened them, she was still there. Still angry. Still flushed. Still watching me like my restraint offended her more than my hunger.
