Her hands come up to rest on my chest, and I don’t know if she’s planning to push me away or pull me closer. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Then stop fighting this.” One hand slides around to the small of her back, pressing her against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.
She looks at me for a long moment. I can see the war playing out on her face—fear versus want, rules versus need, everything she’s built to protect herself...
Then she rises on her toes and kisses me.
I lift her off the ground, and she wraps around me instantly—legs around my waist, arms around my neck, kissing me like she’s been starving for it. Like the last few days of careful distance have been as torturous for her as they were for me.
I walk her backward until her shoulders hit the wall, and she gasps against my mouth. I swallow the sound, chasing it with my tongue, and she makes this noise—half whimper, half moan—that rushes south.
“Off,” she breathes, tugging at my hoodie. “Take this off.”
I let her go just long enough to pull it over my head, and then her hands are on my chest, sliding under my T-shirt, palms flat against my stomach. Her touch is cool and electric, and I’m going to lose my mind.
“You too,” I manage, already reaching for the hem of her shirt. “Fair’s fair.”
She laughs and lifts her arms. The shirt comes off and—
Fuck.
She’s not wearing a bra.
My brain short-circuits. For a solid three seconds, I just stare, taking her in—all soft curves, warm skin, and more beautiful than I imagined. And I’ve imagined this a lot.
“You’re staring,” she whispers.
“Damn right I am.” I crowd her back against the wall, my mouth finding her neck, her collarbone, the curve of hershoulder. She arches into me, fingers sliding into my hair and gripping tight. “You’re gorgeous. Do you know that? Every time I look at you, I forget how to breathe.”
“Zayden—”
I kiss my way back to her mouth, slower this time, savoring. Her hips roll against mine, and I groan, one hand sliding down to grip her thigh, pulling her closer.
“Bed,” she pants. “Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I lift her again—she weighs nothing, or maybe adrenaline is turning me into a superhero—and carry her to the bed, laying her down on the duvet. She pulls me down with her, and for a moment we just look at each other.
Her hair is fanned out on the pillow. Her lips are swollen from my kisses. She looks at me like I’m something she wants to devour.
I know the feeling.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, lowering myself over her, “and I will.”
“Don’t you dare stop.”
I grin against her throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
My mouth traces a path down her neck, across her collarbone, lower. She’s making sounds that will be permanently etched into my memory—little gasps and sighs and my name.
Her fingers are in my hair, nails lightly scraping my scalp. My hands are everywhere—her waist, her hips, sliding up and over her perky breasts. She hooks a leg around my hip, pulling me closer, and the friction makes us both groan.
“Zayden,” she breathes. “Please—”
A loud knock on the door.
We freeze.
