Page 100 of The Backup Plan

I head toward my bedroom. Then stop.

I think of his voice in my ear at the gala. The way he said thank you like it meant something. The way his restraint has felt so much heavier than any touch.

Fuck. I close my eyes. Fight the urge.

And turn, out the door in my bare feet, across the hall.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Lucas opens the door immediately. Surprise flickers across his face. The tie and jacket are gone, his sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is slightly mussed like he’s dragged his hand through it more than once.

“Emery?”

I don’t give him a moment to think, or time for me to second guess this.

“I’m sick of pretending this isn’t happening,” I say, voice steady even as my heart races against my rib cage.

His brows knit. “What—”

I don’t let him finish.

My hands press to his chest and I push him back. The solid thud of his body meeting the wall behind him vibrates its way up my arms. The quiet, surprised exhale he emits is all I need to hear.

Then I kiss him.

Not careful. Not hesitant.

The kiss is all the frustration I swallowed down at the gala. All the restraint I’ve shown. All the moments I walked away when I didn’t want to.

His breath stutters against my mouth, and for a split second his hands hover at his sides, like he’s bracing himself.

“Doc,” he murmurs against my lips, voice rough and conflicted. “Respecting your wishes is harder when you do shit like this.”

I pull back just enough to look at him, noticing his darkened eyes and tight jaw. His control is hanging on by a thread.

I know just how to snap it.

“Disrespect me, Lucas.”

Something in his expression snaps—control giving way to want—and his hands come up fast and decisive, gripping my waist, anchoring me there as his mouth finds mine again. Like he’s done pretending this doesn’t own him too.

The kiss deepens instantly. No more restraint. No more rules. A culmination of the many things we didn’t let ourselves have and have craved.

His mouth moves over mine like he knows exactly what he wants and isn’t willing to let it go again.

I feel everything.

The heat of him.

The press of his body.

The thud of his heart beneath the palm of my hands.

The way his breath stutters when my fingers slide into his hair.

My chest arches into him without permission, and his groan vibrates through him and into me.

We break apart only long enough to breathe.