Page 19 of Stolen Moments

“No?”

“No.” I stand, closing the distance between us. “Lock the door.”

Heat flares in his eyes. “Priya⁠—”

“Lock. The door.”

He does, and then his mouth is on mine, hungry and demanding, and I’m kissing him back with all the want I’ve been suppressing. We stumble backward toward my bed, hands roaming, pulling at clothes, desperate for more contact.

“We should slow down,” Jackson murmurs against my lips even as his hands slide under my shirt.

“We should.”

Neither of us slows down.

We fall onto my bed in a tangle of limbs, and for the first time in my life, I let myself stop planning, stop thinking about consequences, and just feel.

The kissing intensifies, becomes more urgent. His hands are everywhere, in my hair, on my waist, sliding beneath fabric. I arch into his touch, wanting more, and when he pulls back to look at me, his eyes are dark with desire.

“You’re sure?” he asks, breathless.

“I’m sure.”

What follows is heated and passionate and everything I didn’t know I needed. Jackson is attentive, making sure I’m okay with everything, and when I pull him closer, urging him on, he doesn’t hold back.

Afterward, we lie tangled together in my narrow dorm bed, both catching our breath, both knowing something has shifted between us.

“That was…” I start.

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “It was.”

“We probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“Probably not.”

“But I’m not sorry.”

He props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with a soft expression I’ve never seen before. “Good. Because I’m not sorry either.”

“Jackson…”

“I’m falling for you, Priya. I know we said this was casual, but I’m falling for you anyway.”

My heart does something complicated in my chest. “You can’t.”

“Too late.”

“This was supposed to be simple.” I try to fight this, not wanting him to know I feel the same, because this can’t be more.

“It’s never been simple. Not since the first anatomy session when you tried so hard to be professional and I could see you blushing.”

“I wasn’t blushing⁠—”

He kisses me, cutting off the lie. When we break apart, I’m breathless.

“Tell me you don’t feel this too,” he says. “Tell me you’re not falling.”

“I can’t.”