“Like you?” she asked.
I didn’t answer.
Just let my breath warm the nape of her neck, let the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something darker, richer—fill my lungs.
Her body relaxed against mine.
And for a moment, I let myself believe this could work.
That I could stand here with Alexis, hold her like this, and forget about Truth sitting in her mama’s kitchen with a contract that was supposed to keep everything clean.
But even as I thought it, I knew it was a lie.
Because Truth was there.
In the back of my mind.
In the tightness in my chest.
In the way I kept checking my phone even though I’d silenced it hours ago.
Then, Alexis turned in my arms.
Her eyes locked on mine—dark, intense, burning with something I hadn’t seen at dinner.
She grabbed my hand.
“Come with me,” she said.
It wasn’t a request.
She pulled me away from the painting, away from the soft gallery lighting and the murmur of polite conversation. We moved quickly through the crowd, her fingers tight around mine, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
She led me down a narrow hallway past the restrooms, past a door markedStaff Only, into a corner where the lights didn’t quite reach. The sounds of the gallery faded to a distant hum.
The moment we were alone, she pushed me against the wall.
Her mouth found mine—hard, demanding, no hesitation.
I kissed her back.
Tasted wine and lipstick and something wild I hadn’t expected from a woman who taught literature at Loyola and went to church with my mother.
Her hands were already working on my belt.
“Alexis—”
“Shut up,” she breathed against my mouth.
She kissed me again, deeper this time, her tongue sliding against mine while her fingers fumbled with the buckle. She got it open and unzipped my pants. Her hand slipped inside and wrapped around me—firm, confident, no shyness.
I groaned into her mouth.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes half-lidded, her lips swollen.
“You’ve been looking at me all night like you want to devour me,” she whispered. “So do it.”
Something in me snapped.
